


Total Trainwreck

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Lots of Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of reminiscing gets a little too <i>intimate<i></i></i>  Sam and Peter find themselves on the fast track to disaster. Will they manage to get over their stupidity and work things out? Only time will tell! </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Fic will update biweekly! Most likely on Monday and Friday!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Really Awkward Eggs

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been such a huge undertaking. I'd like to dedicate it to my friend Katrina, as this is her brainchild and wouldn't exist without her. She's been what kept me going on writing this, and it wouldn't be half as good as it is now without her. It's also dedicated to Bee. Thank you for inspiring so much of this (esp the mushy stuff) and being an amazing muse.

Sam slurps his coffee.

This is one of the many things Peter is learning about him after all these ten years apart. It right there along with what his favourite beer is, how he hums ridiculous pop songs every single time he's in the bathroom, how many tattoos he’s gotten and what his face looks like when he comes.

Another slurp fills the silence between them as Peter tries very very hard not to hyperventilate.

“So uh... these are good eggs,” he says after a moment, trying to tear his eyes away from the shadow of a bruise on Sam's neck. He doesn't quite remember making that one, but the redness just a little bit below that threatening to darken further? Yeah he definitely remembers doing that.

Twenty minutes ago.

Shit.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him, his eyes falling to Peter's very first forkful of eggs, still hovering uncertainly over his plate.

“Well yeah. I made them,” he says in amusement as Peter hurriedly stuffs the eggs in his mouth. He's thankful that they actually are delicious. The only thing that could have made this more awkward would be spitting eggs back onto his plate.

“Oh yeah uh... culinary school right?” he says, awkwardly poking at the weirdly fancy potatoes on his plate. Who makes potatoes this fancy for breakfast after a hookup? Not that Peter is an expert on post-hookup etiquette or anything but... this seems a bit much.

“And I've been a sous chef for like two years,” he says rolling his eyes. “You really don't listen do you? Like ever,” Sam adds, sounding a little bit annoyed but also a little fond, like Peter's shortcomings are somehow more amusing than they are irritating. “We talked about this last night.”

Peter shrugs. “I guess some things don't change much.”

“I dunno. Your hair got better,” Sam grins at him, all smugness and amusement. 

Peter wants to shove him, but that'd mean potentially losing his next forkful to the cruel mistress that is gravity, and he's enjoying this breakfast way too much to let that happen.  
“Haha, hilarious. Was it the hair that made you jump me at the bar?”

“Hey! You jumped me!” Sam protests loudly. He frowns as Peter grins at him serenely before taking another heavenly bite of breakfast. “You’re starting to make me regret it too, you smug ass. You are the absolute worst Parker I swear.”

“That’s not what you said last niiiiight,” Peter croons, batting his eyelashes comically. 

For a moment Sam’s frown deepens as though he’s trying hard to stay mad, but then he’s fighting back a smile as Peter just keeps on waggling his eyebrows and batting his lashes.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking stupid,” Sam says through his laughter.

Peter has forgotten a lot of things about Sam since high school but he remembers that laugh, loud and unrestricted and every bit as bright as the grin that always follows. And there it is, an enthusiastic flash of joy across his face that makes him look ridiculously handsome in the washed out lighting of Peter's little kitchen.  
Is it just him or is it more endearing than it was ten years ago?

He feels his breath catch a little, and not even the delicious food is enough to distract him from his next impulse.

“Hey uh... I was thinking. Can this not just be a onetime thing?” he asks, the question escaping his mouth before he can stop it, sudden but earnest.

Sam blinks and Peter mirrors the downward twitch of his lips.

Fuck.

He looks freaked out, like he's half considering just bolting up from the table and making a break for the door, and Peter can't help but wish he had just kept his big mouth shut while things were going well.

“Uh-,” he starts.

“It's fine!” Peter squeaks, trying desperately to control his expression, though he's pretty sure his eyes are wide and sort of deranged looking. “It's totally okay. This was just like... a thing.” He can't bring himself to say a mistake.

“A good thing dude!” Sam hurries to reassure him. His eyes wander down a little to where Peter's shirt is still unbuttoned, the slightest hint of an almost dreamy smile on his face for a moment. “Like really really good. I just didn't think you'd want you know... a relationship?”

He expression shifts to something more conflicted, like he's thinking through a list of pros and cons, though maybe that's just Peter projecting. After all Sam is more impulse than anything, usually he's not the type to think things through. At least he hadn't been back when Peter had known him well.

Ugh God. Of course Sam must be freaked out. It's not like they're close anymore. They've barely talked over the years. It was stupid for Peter to think that hint of a spark would exist as anything other than sexual tension now.

Well shit. Time to smooth talk his way out of this.

“What? No! I didn't mean a relationship! I mean like,” Peter wracks his brain for something to say, anything to make this less awkward. “Like do this again. What we did last night. And this morning. No strings.”

Well. He tried.

He closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable laughter, but it never comes.

“Seriously?” Sam asks, looking completely baffled when Peter peeks his eye open. “I mean, no offense Parker but I never really thought you'd be the kind of guy who did the fuckbuddy thing. You seem like the Waiting for The One before he gives away his virtue type.”

Sam grins widely as Peter struggles to shut his mouth. Rude! And uncalled for. He's had sex with someone he wasn't in a relationship with before!

Twice. 

Once with a boy he’d been crushing on hard who hadn’t wanted all the feelings Peter had brought into the situation. Ouch. That one still kind of stings. And the other time was with a girl he’d known in college. They'd messed around a few times... before Peter asked her out. They had dated for eight months. 

But it still counts!

“And so what you thought last night was a declaration of my undying love?” Peter snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought last night was a fluke! And this morning was just like... an unexpected bonus,” Sam grins, all teeth and wicked delight, and fuck he really shouldn't be getting turned on again, but here he is getting a semi at the breakfast table from just a look.

“Yeah well, what are the chances of this fluke happening again? And again and again and again. Preferably in all sorts of fun and creative positions. I'm super flexible you know. And... and am I ruining my chances here?” he asks, feeling his face heat up. God, he's terrible at this kind of thing. Or at least it's turning out that way. He's never ever going to admit this to Sam but he was right. This is the first time Peter has done the whole fuckbuddy thing.

Sam grins like a shark, leaning forward to place his hand higher on Peter's thigh than is entirely appropriate. Though he guesses that's sort of the point.  
“What kinda positions did you have in mind?”

Peter doesn’t think he could tear his eyes away from that wicked look if his life depended on it. This is going to be a train wreck, he thinks as Sam stands and moves around the table. He grabs Peter by the collar of his shirt, dragging him forward into a searing kiss as he climbs onto his lap. But hey, he adds to himself privately as Sam’s hips rock down against his own, the friction heating him to the core. If this is all going to go up in flames, at least he’ll enjoy the ride.


	2. Gossipy Ex Girlfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no impulse control so here's the next chapter early! In which the girls grill the guys. And the guys? They suffer.

“Peter Benjamin Parker” MJ bares her teeth in a red lipsticked mockery of a smile at him over her latte.

To anyone else she might look sweet, inquisitive, maybe a bit smug, but Peter isn't fooled. Peter has known her far too long to see her as anything other than a ravenous beast. And that look on her face means she's ready to eat him whole.

“You have a hickey,” she continues sweetly. “Where in the world would you have gotten a hickey from? Last I checked you've been single for what? A year now? A year and a half?”

“Something like that,” he mutters back, tucking the hand not currently in a death grip on his coffee cup into his pocket. At least they're walking outside and he can blame the colour in his cheeks on the crisp autumn air. “So kind of you to point out my dry spell MJ really. You're an excellent friend.”

“And you're deflecting,” she singsongs, slipping her arm through his and leaning in close. “Spill.”

“Spill what? My coffee? No way, it was expensive! And that coat you're wearing looks expensive too. And new. Wouldn't want to get coffee on there no sir. Where did you get it by the way?” he asks, not pausing for breath.

“Paris. Now who gave you the hickey Tiger. You are going to tell me, so you might as well get it over with now and save us both some trouble.”

“I don't know how you even saw it. I covered it up with that makeup you left at my house and everything,” Peter grumbles at her, waving the white flag of defeat. She's ruthless. He never really had a chance.

“Blending darling. It's a thing. And you needed waaay more than that to cover that monster up. Someone really did a number on you didn't they?” she laughs and Peter blushes even harder under her scrutiny.

“He was... enthusiastic,” he concedes begrudgingly, and Mary Jane practically squeals in delight.

“So it was a guy! Come on Peter, tell me everything. Did you pick him up at the bar last night? You were _supposed_ to be visiting your friends,” she admonishes, though Peter notes that she sounds the opposite of upset.

“I did visit my friends. We had a great visit. It was great,” he says, taking a quick sip of coffee to shut himself up and burning his tongue.

MJ narrows her eyes, searching his face.

“Oh my _god_ Peter,” she says, and the way her eyes widen would almost be comical if they didn't signify Peter's rapidly approaching death at her hands.

“What?”

“Peter you __didn't_.”_

“Didn't what?!” his face feels as hot as his coffee now. He wonders if he'd drown or just get hypothermia if he made a dash for the Hudson and dove right in. Either way it'd probably be less painful than this.

“Oh my god, you did!” MJ stops, tugging on his arm to keep him still as pedestrians around them curse and push past the sudden makeshift roadblocks of their bodies. MJ doesn't seem to care though. She's too busy staring directly into his eyes, the curve of her mouth amused even if she seems to be in utter disbelief. “You slept with Sam.”

“What?! How did you- I mean that's not to say I did but... what?!” Peter tries to wriggle out of MJ's grip, but her tiny hand is like a vice against his arm and he's slightly afraid that she might dig her claws in if he struggles harder.

MJ gives him this look that he's long ago taken to mean that he's missing something completely obvious to her superior intellect. Only this time it's a little too knowing for his comfort.

“Seriously how did you...”

“Well it obviously wasn't Ava,” she interrupts before he can get further. “And Luke is married to that Jessica girl. Danny Rand has been dating Misty Knight since last May, it's in all the papers, so unless you went against your ridiculously rigorous morals and tempted a taken man... you and Sam fucked like bunnies last night.”

Sometimes Peter forgets that MJ had been a reporter before she got her big break in acting. Obviously he should never let his guard down like that again.

“MJ we are in public,” he hisses as an old woman turns to look. She winks and Peter thinks he might die right then and there. MJ of course ignores his mortification for more important things.

“I can't believe this. Haven't seen the guy for ten years and the first thing you do is jump his bones,” she croons in delight.

“No,” he protests. “The first thing we did was get drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. Alcohol is evil and we were very _ __very_ __ drunk.”

“So this was a one-time drunk thing then?” She sounds almost disappointed.

Peter huffs a breath. “Well three times...”

“You dog!” she slaps his arm, looking for all the world like she was the one who had an excellent hookup the night before. And this morning. Oh lord.

“God I hate you,” he says, suffering. “Have I mentioned I hate you? And no. I uh... I asked him if he wanted to do it again. Over eggs.”

MJ raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

“They were really good eggs,” he adds with a winning smile.

Her sigh is long and tired, the sigh of a woman who has had to deal with a man-child for the majority of her life and is no longer surprised at the sheer stupidity of every other word that comes tumbling from his idiot mouth. “The eggs aren't important Peter,” she says, which Peter thinks is completely unfair. Obviously she has never had Sam's cooking. “What did he say?”

“Say?”

The frustrated sound MJ makes this time is one that would probably shock and appall her many fans and fabulous actor and model friends. “When you asked him out you absolute imbecile.”

“Well I uh... I didn't really. Ask him out that is,” Peter pauses, but the expectant silence is too much for him, and it's barely a second later that he's singing like a canary. “I kinda asked him to do... to uh you know... again. Like, on a fairly regular basis.”

If Peter didn't know that MJ was perfectly healthy he would have assumed she was having a heart attack. “Peter Parker!” she hisses through her teeth, finally seeming to grasp the need for lowered voices. “You asked him to be your _ _ __fuckbuddy_?!” ___ He's pretty sure if she had a free hand she'd be clutching her chest right now, but she's smart enough to know he'll go running for the hills if she lets him go (he's done it before. He's not too proud to literally run from awkward situations), and Peter knows she'd rather die than go without her latte.

“I prefer friends with benefits,” he replies sheepishly, hunching his shoulders and doing his very best to disappear from plain sight.

“And here I was thinking you prefer _ _ _ _relationships,”____ she says back, searching his face again in that disconcerting way she has. “Did he say yes?”

“Uh yeah. He did.”

MJ looks oddly serious for a flickering moment, before a smile spreads on her face again leaving Peter to wonder if he had imagined that worried look in her eyes and the thin line of her mouth. “You must have really impressed him,” she purrs, and Peter blushes hard.

“Could we stop talking about this now?”

Mary Jane shakes her head in mock sympathy. “It's like you don't even know me at all,” she says mournfully, tugging him back into motion.

“Where are we going?” he asks, nervous, trying to keep his coffee from spilling all over himself at the sudden movement.

“My place. You're gonna tell me everything. I can't believe this Tiger, you finally got yourself a casual hookup! Just wait until we tell Harry!”

He groans loudly, resigning himself to a long day.

“Come on Pete. Wait until we get to my place before you start reenacting the sounds you made last night,” she cackles, and Peter groans louder.  
Scratch that. He's going to have to resign himself to a long month at least. MJ is the queen of never letting things go.

With one last desperate look at the Hudson, Peter allows her to drag him home.

….......

“Carrie? Yo, Carrie, can you hear me? Hellooooo?” Sam is tempted to tap at his laptop, but he restrains himself. Tapping isn't a good plan when you have a touchscreen, and he doesn't want to hang up the call by accident. Skype is enough of a dick as it is without him having to retry the call.

“Sam? Jesus this thing is such a piece of shit.”

“Nice language,” Sam laughs, then laughs harder when she swears at him again. Weirdly, one of his favourite things about her is how much she tells him to fuck off. It makes his chest feel tight with missing her.

“So what's up Sammy. Why the emergency Skype call?” she says, knowing how much he hates being called Sammy.

“It's not an _emergency_...” he says awkwardly, fiddling with his phone in his hand. Maybe dicking around on Instagram will make this conversation feel less awkward.

“Oh my bad. I guess I totally misread the _twenty_ fucking 'I need to tell you something get on Skype' texts,” Carrie sounds a little bit pissed off, but mostly like she's laughing at him and he hasn't even started telling her about his night yet.

“It was only like six!”

Carrie doesn't answer, and for a second he thinks the call might have dropped before his Skype icon lights up and he sees that she's sent him a screenshot of...

“Hah! That's only twelve!”

“Shut up Sam. Just tell me what the hell is so important. Is it something that happened with your friends or something?” She sounds the way she always does when he has gossip, like she's trying way too hard to be chill but is secretly dying to hear every tiny detail.

Sam decides to mess with her. What can he say? He's a shit like that.

“Who says anything is important? Maybe I just really really miss you Carebear,” he singsongs, glad that she's in grad school in Nevada and therefore way too far away to hit him.

“Yeah sure you do,” she deadpans. “But I have a thesis to write so you'll have to just keep on missing me if there's nothing else you need.”

“Wait, wait! You don't wanna hear about my hookup last night?” he asks innocently.

He can hear a sound like she's shifted in her seat and if he closes his eyes he can almost see her, sitting in her room and leaning forward in sudden interest. Her room would be clean, the window open no matter what time it was to let the air and the sounds from outside filter in, and she's probably sitting with her legs tucked up under her.

Sam misses her so much his heart aches a little sometimes.

“You actual piece of filth,” she says proudly. “You've got my attention. And my interest. Which of your dorky high school friends did you fuck? Was it the hot hippie dude or the pretty Latina girl?”

Sam laughs, leaning back in his chair and remembering Peter’s dorky smile as he had stripped off his shirt, the way he’d gotten stuck in his pants and almost fallen to the floor. He can’t imagine either Danny or Ava being quite that stupid, or that adorable.

“Guess again.”

Carrie makes a surprised little noise. “Seriously? Well... it can’t be Luke, I went with you to his wedding. Unless… don’t tell me you’re his mistress now?”

“Haha,” Sam deadpans, only to be met with silence. “Uh Care?”

“I’m here. Just processing. I mean if this means what I think it does…”

“If you think it means Parker and I had wild sex on like five different surfaces of his apartment then yeah, it’s what you think it means,” he says, liking a picture Ava had posted from last night halfway down his Instagram dash. God he looks smashed, but Peter looks worse, all red in the face with a huge doofy smile and his hair sticking up in all different directions. They’re standing just a little too close too. Looking back Sam guesses it isn’t so surprising that they’d ended up going home together.

“Nice. Thanks for the mental image,” Carrie replies with a snort. “Jesus Sam, I can’t believe you and Parker finally banged.”

Sam frowns at that, but before he can get a word in Carrie is already talking over him.

“So when’s the wedding?”

Sam sighs. “We aren’t even dating Care.”

“No? Why not? I figured you’d have to ask him out to get in his pants he’s such a goody two shoes. Definitely not easy like you,” she teases lightly.

Sam can’t help but laugh, both at the dig at Parker and the one at himself.

“Yeah well apparently Parker is a lot looser than anyone figured. Dude literally asked me to be his fuckbuddy between rounds. I mean I thought for a second he was going to ask… but ah well. I mean this is good too right?”

Carrie goes silent again, but this time Sam knows the call hasn’t dropped. He can hear the background noise continue as the silent seconds tick by. “Did you faint or something? I mean I know Pete’s slutty side is shocking but…”

“Sam,” she starts as she turns on her webcam, then pauses again, choosing her words. “Listen, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean I know you, so I know you’re going to see him again, but I also know that you’ve had a crush on him since you met him.”

“Hey I didn-”

Carrie holds up her hand, her serious face on, and Sam is smart enough now to know that means shut up. “And don’t argue because you can pretend you hated him all you want. No one is buying it. That was classic high school sexual tension, and you know it.”

Sam makes a face.

“And then there were the dumb nicknames and all those times you both snuck away to have like weird bro heart to hearts where you pretended that you weren’t being emotional because you were too cool for that. And all the times I caught you staring at his ass. Oh and don’t forget that notebook where you scribbled hearts around your names. And-”

“Okay okay I get it,” Sam huffs, cutting her off before she can get to anything more cringe worthy. “What’s your point?”

Carrie sighs, giving him an almost pleading look. “I just… I don’t know. You’re an asshole, but you’re also my best friend. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Sam clicks his webcam on, giving his friend a wide grin. “Aww Care. You do care,” he croons, earning himself a rude gesture. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I mean yeah I’m going to have sex with him, but I don’t think my dumb high school crush is going to mess me up. I mean seriously, I could land someone way cooler than Parker, you know that. We’re just gonna end up being friends who fuck until we get tired of it. It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs, pushing down the worried voice at the back of his mind telling him that his feelings for Peter in high school went far beyond crush territory.

He’ll be fiiiiiine.

“Yeah okay. Whatever you say Sam. Just don’t make me say I told you so. As fun as that is, I’m not looking forward to it in this situation.”

“Nah I think you’ll still enjoy it,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes but laughs along with him. From there it’s easy to change the subject to what he and Peter got up to, which Carrie seems far too interested in for his comfort.

He tells her vague details; they started against the door, Peter is noisier when he’s drunk, they did it three times. But no matter how hard she pleads he holds out, grinning smugly as he holds it over her head.

“Come on, it’s not like I haven’t heard it all before,” she goads him, trying to get better details.

“Yeah, well my life isn’t one of your trashy porno fanfictions Care Bear,” Sam teases back, grinning when he’s pretty sure he sees her blush.

“Samuel Alejandro you are going to tell me _everything_ or I’m telling your mom that you and Peter have been happily dating for _months_ and you never told her.”  
Sam’s smirk falls faster than a blink, and his eyes go wide.

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“Try me,” Carrie says, smiling sweetly.

Sam surrenders. Carrie has clearly had too many years of practice at blackmailing him.

He tells her how his eyes had been drawn to Peter the whole night, taking in all the ways he looked and acted different from his memories. At first he’d just been interested in how much older Peter seemed. Still stupid, still goofy and ridiculous and nerdy, but more confident now than he’s ever been, and nicer to look at too. Then he’d noticed Peter looking back. Noticed his eyes taking in the line of his body. From there it had been easy. A glance here, a touch there, a few innuendos, and Peter hadn’t hesitated even a moment before pulling him into a shadowy corner and kissing him senseless.

“So, he must be pretty good at kissing then,” Carrie says, grinning evilly.

Sam shrugs, the smirk on his lips giving him away.

“You could say that. There’s a few other things he’s good at too.”

Carrie laughs, giving him a sly look. "You didn't you know.... too early did you? Because you always used to do that when you were drunk and as flattering as that is-"

“Okay! That’s enough sharing for today!” Sam squeaks, his entire face and neck heating. Usually he’s good with the fact that he and Carrie are exes, but every once in a while she makes him regret that fact, having a huge arsenal of embarrassing stories at her beck and call.

“Good, I don’t want to hear all the gross parts,” she says sweetly. “So when do you see him again?”

“No plans yet,” Sam admits, though he refuses to admit that he’s a little bit nervous nothing will come of this. After all, Peter has been the most fun Sam has had in longer than he’d like to admit.

“So call him and make one,” Carrie scolds. Like it’s that simple. “Oh come on don’t give me that look. You aren’t in high school anymore Sam. You’re both adults, you don’t have to play stupid games.”

“I’m not Care, I just y’know. Don’t want to scare him away. He’s a precious little nerd, I don’t want him to like scurry off to his textbooks... er darkroom? to hide if I’m too forward or some shit like that.”

Carrie raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Sam, from the look of your neck, I don’t think scaring him away is going to be a problem.”

Sam’s hand immediately goes to where he knows the biggest hickey is, just above his pulse point.

“Yeah yeah okay I’ll call him or something. Didn’t you say you had shit to do?” Sam asks, not entirely ready for Carrie to go. She may be a pain in the ass but he misses her.

“I’m putting it on hold. You got to talk about your hookup, now you have to hear about mine,” she says, rolling her eyes when Sam bounces a little in his seat at that.

“Yooo Care Bear got some action? When did that happen?”

It’s weird, but as he listens to Carrie’s story he thinks maybe she’s onto something with the whole just calling Parker thing. He figures Pete will be busy during the week with photography stuff and nerd shit, but maybe next weekend…

Yeah. This thing with Peter will be fun. Getting laid regularly is never a bad thing right? And it gives him time to reconnect with an old friend. He can cream him in video games again, and have movie marathons and do all the fun crap they used to do with the added bonus of sex without all that romantic pressure.

What could possibly go wrong?


	3. Backdoor Bathroom Blowjobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friends with benefits situation heats up and Peter tries to keep his cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know, this chapter is where we start to earn the explicit rating. If you aren't about that life or you're too young to read graphic depictions of sex shoo on outta here and give this chapter a miss. 
> 
> Also sorry this is not on Friday. I totally suck at keeping schedules :P

It's the next Saturday that Peter receives the texts.

He’s in the middle of a photoshoot when his phone buzzes three times in a row. When he doesn't answer it rings, but of course he can't answer until an hour later once they've wrapped things up.

“Hey Sam, sorry I was at a shoot. What's up?”

“Pete! I got the job! I'm head chef! Dude, I can't believe this!” Sam's voice is loud and bright, but still hard to hear through the muffled voices and music in the background. Peter wonders where he is.

“That's awesome!” Peter tells him sincerely, having absolutely no idea what the difference between a sous chef, which Sam had been, and head chef is. Head definitely sounds like a step up though, so he figures this is good, especially given how excited Sam sounds. “You've definitely got the big head for it.”

“Oh haha. Not even your shitty jokes can bug me today,” Sam says cheerfully. “Hey listen. Luke, Ava and Danny are all here, we're at SHIELD celebrating. You should come,” he says, his voice brighter and happier than Peter has heard it since his high school days.

He's tired after a long day, and he wants to sleep more than anything in the world. Not go out to a bar, even their favourite bar, and party until god knows what time. But something about Sam's voice makes all those arguments dissolve before he can voice them.

“Yeah, why not. You do stupid things when you're drunk, how can I pass that up?” he laughs. “I'll be down in half an hour, just gotta go home and change.”

“You like the stupid things I do when I'm drunk Parker,” Sam practically purrs down the line, and then he's gone, and Peter is smiling to himself like a dork because yeah. He kinda does.

By the time he gets to the bar it's been closer to an hour, but the rest of the gang doesn't seem to be planning on going home any time soon.

Danny wraps his arms around Peter in greeting, the hug lingering just a bit too long. Peter can smell booze on him strong enough that it’s like embracing a brewery.

Ava seems to be in the middle of kicking Sam's ass at darts, but she spares him a wave, her hair a little bit messier than Peter has ever seen it which he figures means she's drunk enough not to care. That or she's been having a rough day. Sam flashes him a bright smile and quirks his brow before turning back to complain loudly about cheating as Ava gets a bullseye behind him.

“Hey Pete,” Luke says, laughing as Danny finally pulls away and turns to beam up at him too. “How's it hanging man?”

“Good. Looks like you guys have been having fun,” he laughs, taking a seat now that he's free from Danny's weirdly tight grip.

“Danny sure has,” Luke tells him, as Ava and Sam come over.

“Whatever Ava, there's no way your aim is that good after four beers,” Sam is saying.

“What can I say, I'm just that awesome,” she replies, grinning widely.

“Or Sam's just that bad,” Peter chimes in. Sam glares and Ava smiles even wider.

“Why did I invite you again Webs?”

The nickname from high school hit's Peter right in the chest, giving him a rush of nostalgia. He remembers it like it was yesterday, staying up until three am working on their science projects the night before they were due. He remembers Sam's head resting on his shoulder sometime around two am, remembers not wanting to move or even breathe too hard in case Sam decided to move. They'd worked in near silence after that point, the sleep deprived giggles of earlier trailing off into comfortable quiet that seemed almost magical in the faint light shining from the lamp in Peter's room. Sam had started calling him Webs, and other silly spider themed nicknames after that night, with Peter taking the slightly more awkward but still fun route of calling him anything to do with stars and space.

The memory makes Peter feel warm as he settles in amongst his friends, talking and laughing like not a day has passed since high school. He tries not to stare at Sam, but he's making it hard with that bright grin and the way he keeps swaying before they finally convince him to sit down across from Peter.

Sadly, once he's sitting he only gets somehow more distracting, and after a few beers Peter can't help the impulse to stare, this time at his hands.

Sam's stupid hands were never this distracting back in high school. Peter would have remembered.

They're strong, worn and, Peter has noticed covered in little nicks and cuts from his work as a chef. There's callouses in strange places, one at the base of his forefinger, tough skin at the tips of his fingers, all of which feel strangely good when he has Peter's-

He shakes his head. Not the time. Right now he should be listening to Ava complain about her job as a personal trainer, and how her clients endlessly frustrate her. Right now he should be nodding sympathetically at her stories of slackers, creepers and sweaty hugs, or making a pun about how she shouldn't _sweat_ the small stuff.

Right now... Sam is catching him staring.

Shit.

He looks a little bit taken aback for a second, like he hadn't expected to see Peter checking him out, but confusion soon gives way to pure unadulterated delight and Peter feels a real jolt of fear. That look isn't good. That look is the one Sam used to get back in high school whenever he found a weakness to exploit. Any time he found something to tease Peter with, or managed to find an advantage, that look of pure _pleasure_ would flash bright and wicked across his face.

That look used to drive Peter crazy. Now it makes him feel something very different somewhere low in his lap.

He bites his lip, staring transfixed as one of Sam's hands starts playing with his beer, those calloused fingers that he remembers feeling sinfully good against his skin wrapping around the neck, trailing up and down minutely. On one upward stroke he moves higher, trailing his finger gently along the opening of the bottle. Peter watches, mesmerized as he raises it to his mouth, his tongue darting out to meet it before he slides it into his mouth, his eyes fixed on Peter's face.

“Peter? Yo earth to Pete,” Luke's voice snaps him out of his reverie. He blinks up into the amused faces of his friends, looking like a particularly dumb puppy.

“Wha-? Uh yeah?”

“Were you even listening?” Ava huffs, her lips curled up into a little smile. “Danny was asking you about your shoot today.”

“Oh right! Uh it was good. I took pictures of cars. They uh... they squirm less than people,”

Seriously? They squirm less than people?

Maybe if Sam wasn't currently making _him_ squirm he'd be able to think and possibly keep from embarrassing himself. But Sam is definitely trying to make him squirm. The way his foot nudges against Peter's leg, rubs up and down the length of it over and over makes that very obvious.

Thankfully he manages to get through without losing focus, even when it seems like Sam's foot might climb up above the knee. He can't help the little thrill that shivers its way through him at the thought. What if Sam did slide his foot up into his lap. What if he rubbed it higher and higher on his thigh right there, surrounded by all their friends until-

He blinks, taking a gulp of his beer as Danny tells him that he may need a photographer for an upcoming event, and tries to focus as Sam's foot makes the long trail back down his leg. He makes it all the way up until the conversation turns from his recent photo shoots to Danny's Rand Corp. deals, and he isn't sure if he feels relieved or disappointed when the infernal leg rubbing stops.

Peter glares across the table at Sam.

He wants to mouth at him to stop. To tell him that he's killing him here, and they're with their friends and he's being downright _depraved._ He wants to do this, but instead he just watches as Sam's lips wrap lewdly around the bottle and Peter swallows along with him, eyes torn between the bob of his throat and the gorgeous stretch of his lips against the smooth glass.

Shit shit banana split. He needs to get out of here and get a grip before he gets even more embarrassingly hard sitting in the middle of a bar surrounded by his friends.

He's gotta be subtle. Maybe just slip away to the bathroom quietly. He can do this. He can be smooth and-

Peter stands up so suddenly that his chair screeches like a demon from hell, loud enough that it drowns out the music. Loud enough that the people the next table over glance over. Loud enough that Ava actually pauses in her story about the beautiful guy who serves her coffee every Monday to look at him skeptically.

“Uh bathroom,” he mutters, fighting the urge to cover his face in his hands. He also has to fight the urge to cover something lower, but he figures his pants are probably loose enough to hide the stirring in his lap that Sam's stupid teasing has caused. Besides, covering your crotch is always a dead giveaway.

“Uh huh,” Luke says, his eyebrow raised, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Sam laughing like the little asshole he is.

“Didn't ask Parker,” Ava says, scrunching up her nose. It'd be cute if he couldn't still see Sam there, shaking in mirth.

“Have fun,” the jackass in question sing-songs, still laughing as Peter turns on his heel and practically sprints towards the bathroom in the back corner of the bar.

“Well... that could have gone better,” he tells himself as he enters, making a beeline towards the sink to splash some water on his face. He looks at himself in the mirror and shakes his head. Seriously Parker? What the hell. He's acting like he's back in high school again, and he sort of hates himself for it. Being back with his old friends isn't the problem. The problem is that he's acting like a horny teenager, all over a guy he's only talked to on Skype for ten years now.

Sure, he'd had a bit of a crush on him in high school... but that should have been in the past.

Peter sighs, and then barricades himself in a stall, seriously considering banging his head against it. In the end he decides against it though. It _looks_ fairly clean, but you can never be sure in a place like this.

And then, god, he kinda hates himself for imagining banging _Sam_ against it instead.

Bad brain! Get a grip!

He looks down at his lap, chuckling bitterly. No not a grip on _that_.

Although maybe...

Thankfully before he can do anything stupid the door to the bathroom opens, and the sound of footsteps and muffled voices from the bar wipe all thoughts of self-pleasuring from his mind. He shakes his head. Bad Peter, he silently reprimands himself. This is a _public place_ , what were you thinking?

He stands up, fully planning on leaving and downing at least five freezing cold glasses of water in the hopes it'll help when the sound of the lock to the outer bathroom door turning makes him freeze, hand halfway to the stall door.

“Uh hello?”

The only reply he gets is slow measured footsteps headed straight towards his stall.

“Listen if you're here to mug me you're barking up the wrong tree buddy,” he says nervously, eying the door in an attempt to judge how structurally sound it is. Will the dude on the other side be able to break it down? He hopes not. But just in case Peter decides to do what he does best. And that is ramble.

“I have a negative bank balance. Seriously there aren't even cobwebs in my account. I mean come on I don't even have cash on me! At a bar! My big strong friend out there was buying all my drinks. You might have seen him? Muscles the size of watermelons? Yellow shirt, sitting next to the blonde guy? The blonde guy who's a kung fu master by the way. So really you'd be wasting your time with me...”

“Do you ever shut up Parker?” Sam asks in amusement, his shoes appearing under the stall door.

“Sam? You uh... I thought you were... um... hi,” Peter says, face red. He thanks his lucky stars that Sam can't see just how embarrassed he is right now.

Hands tug at the stall door, followed by a frustrated sound when Sam finds it locked. “Let me in.”

Peter swallows. “You're not gonna mug me are you?” he asks, his voice shaky in his own ears. He has an idea of what Sam might want to do with him, and it's definitely not stealing his stuff.

Still... this is a bathroom. A bathroom in a bar. And while stuff like this probably happens in this bar bathroom all the time, especially if the little hole in the wall of stall he's been trying not to notice is any indication, he still isn't sure if he's the kind of guy who does this sort of thing.

“Please Parker, like you have any money,” he laughs. “Do you want me to come in or not?”

With hesitant hands Peter reaches out and turns the lock.

“Hey,” he says with a smile as Sam steps into the stall. “What's a nice guy like you doing in a bathroom like this?”

“What do you think? I'm here to mug you,” Sam says, crowding him back against the wall.

His greedy calloused fingers are up under his shirt before Peter can think up a comeback, and Sam has him gasping and clinging to his hips like a lifeline less than three seconds later. He toys with Peter's nipples, sucking on his lower lip as Peter grips him tight and tries to keep up.

Shit shit shit. The feeling of Sam warm against him, of his fingers dancing over his skin and the press of Sam's cock straining hard against the front of his jeans is too much. He can't breathe, can't think beyond the sound of Sam's labored breathing and the feeling of his skin as he frantically touches him everywhere he can.

He scrambles to get his hands on the button of Sam's pants, undoing them and roughly tugging down the zipper faster than he thinks he's ever done it before. He can't wait, the heat in his veins too much, the desire coursing through him too strong to let him hesitate for even a moment before his hands are down his pants, under his boxers, stroking without even bothering to pull either of them down.

“F-fuck, ah Peter,” Sam gasps against his lips, and then he's grinning and it's clear by his expression what he's thinking.

Peter's thinking it too. He's so desperate, so completely gone on Sam, on the feeling of touching him, on the taste of his lips and the warmth of his skin. He's sure Sam is amused by how ridiculously needy Peter Parker is. How he's reduced him to a panting writhing mess against a bathroom stall.

But from the pulse of Sam's dick in his hand and the way it's so hard from just a few minutes of frantic groping Peter can tell he _likes_ it. He likes being adored, being pawed at and having his clothes torn off in the back of a seedy little bar. Being the object of Peter's desperation is getting Sam off, and Peter can't help the feral thoughts that bubble up in his mind at that knowledge.

Good, he thinks. You're _mine._

Even if just for now.

“Eager huh?” Sam says, shivering as Peter's grip tightens around his cock, working the head against his palm.

“You're one to talk,” Peter replies, laughing at the frustrated little noise Sam makes when the quick stroke of Peter's hand makes him lose concentration and fumble with the button of Peter's pants. “Need help there?”

Sam glares at him, finally managing to pop the button out. He yanks Peter's pants down to his knees. And then his hand is around him, through his boxers and oh god it's so good, but it's not _enough._

“Sam,” he whines, then firmer when Sam plays with the head idly like they have all the time in the world, “Sam, come on!”

His boxers are around his knees before he can say another word, and Sam is working that one spot on his neck over with his mouth and teeth and tongue. It's enough to make Peter's knees go weak.

“God Parker. I want you to fuck me,” Sam growls against his ear. Peter wants it too. He wants it so bad that it hurts, a relentless pressure between his legs, aching with every pulse of blood through his veins. “But we don't have time. Fuck.”

Peter shivers, his hand working between Sam's legs with more desperation now. The thought of it will have to be enough for now. Of pressing Sam back against the wall, getting his legs up around him. Of fucking him hard enough to shake the stall, his gorgeous head tilted back, hair fanning out against the grey wall in a dark halo.

“So...” Sam continues, considering, and it's enough to snap Peter out of his fantasy. “I'm gonna suck you off right here, and later tonight you're going to take me home fuck me hard against the wall.”

Peter makes a sound that he really really wishes he could say wasn't a whimper in response, letting his hand slip out of Sam's pants as the other man kneels down before him and licks the tip of his cock.

This is a public place; this is a public place this is a _public place_ becomes Peter's internal mantra as he bites his lip hard to keep any stray noises from escaping. The bar is loud sure, but there's always a chance someone could hear and... moaning here would be bad. For quite a few reasons.

Reasons that quickly escape him when Sam does that thing with his tongue and then sucks _hard._

“Nggg fuck Sam!”

He grips Sam's hair roughly, knees actually buckling this time. Sam chuckles around him, the absolute asshole, and tugs his hips forward, taking him deeper into his mouth. Peter looks down just in time to see Sam shove his hand down his own pants. It's the movement of Sam's wrist as much as the wet press of his tongue that wrings the next moan from his mouth.

It doesn't take long for Peter to come buried in Sam's mouth, his breathing labored and shallow as his hands gentle in his hair.

Sam licks him clean, slow long licks that make Peter whine and shake. When he closes his mouth back around him and sucks he has to grip his head tight again to keep himself upright.

Sam makes a satisfied around his softening cock, pulling back to grin up at him.

“Yeah?” he asks, the little smartass. Peter wishes he didn't find it so hot when Sam is being smug.

He wants to tell him to shut up. He really really does, but he's pretty sure the sound that comes out of his mouth when he tries is more like a weak moan than anything. It's embarrassing sure, but this whole night has been a little embarrassing. In fact, come to think of it his whole life has been a little embarrassing. At least this time he got to enjoy it.

He helps Sam to his feet and kisses him deeply, a few more strokes to his straining cock all it takes to make him come against Peter's stomach with a cry and a few full body jerks.

“Yeah?” Peter mimics back, whispering in his ear with a smirk. Sam grumbles at him, flopping his weight down against his chest to mouth idly at his neck as he catches his breath. Peter is running a hand through his hair before he realizes what he's doing, but if Sam minds the intimate action he doesn't show it. In fact, he's makes a soft pleased noise against Peter's neck before pulling back and placing a lingering kiss on his lips.

He looks a mess, his hair sticking up every which way, his eyes heavy and lidded, and there's a bit of come at the corner of his mouth. Peter considers not telling him about it, but thinks better of it. After all, they've been gone long enough to make their friends suspicious, it's not like they need more evidence to fuel the fire. Instead he wipes it away with his thumb, making Sam blink up at him in confusion before a slow smile slinks its way across his face.

“Mmm thanks. Not gonna lie I totally thought you were gonna go all blushing virgin on me and kick me out for even thinking about doing this at the bar,” he drawls, looking sleepy now that they're done. Peter really hopes he's not going to fall asleep as soon as they get home. After all he made some very interesting promises earlier, and Peter _really_ wants to take him up on those.

“Says the guy who thought I wouldn't be into friends with benefits. Good to see you're still wrong 90% of the time, just like in high school,” Peter says, and feeling bold slides his hands down Sam's back to squeeze his ass in emphasis.

Sam squeaks, then he's glaring as Peter giggles at him delighted by the adorable sound. He makes a mental note to squeeze Sam's ass again later so he can hear it again. Preferably when they're in public.

“Yeah yeah. Make sure you zip up your fly before you come out,” Sam says flippantly, stepping back and doing so himself. He's out the door before Peter can respond, and Peter is left staring at the toilet paper holder wondering when this became his life. He huffs, pulling up his pants and feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the whirlwind direction Sam has taken his night in.

“Oh and Parker?” Sam's voice cuts through his daze sharply.

“Uh... yeah?” he shakes his head blinking stupidly at the wall. Good sex always makes him a little dumb, but he's never felt this thrown off before. He wonders if it's because it's the first time he's had sex in public, or if it's always going to be like this with Sam.

“Don't take too long to come. I mean, you're gonna be my ride tonight,” he says, and then the sound of the lock turning and the noise of the bar sweeps him away.

In his subsequent rush to get out of the bathroom Peter does forget to do up his fly, much to the amusement of his friends when they notice. Not that he really cares.

After all, he has a feeling he won't be wearing pants much longer tonight. Especially if the look Sam gives him as he announces he's ready to go home is any indication.


	4. I Wanna Take a Ride on Your Joystick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the sexytimes continue. It's all fun and games until somebody starts having feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting schedule? What posting schedule? Sorry I know this has been really unpredictable so far in the way of updates. I'm doing my best though! Only a day late!

For Sam, hanging out with Peter is weirdly just like it was in high school.

The only minor hurdle is that Peter is... well awkward doesn't even cover it. So of course he makes things weird the first few times they hang out. He's getting better though, this time the phone call goes well enough, he barely even fumbles over his “Want to come and hang out?”

It’d almost be cute how red he goes when he answers the door if it wasn’t so stupid.

“Uh hey,” he says, far too timid for Parker. It’s weird and uncomfortable and makes Sam feel like he needs to _fix_ this. So he does the only thing he can think of to drain the tension out of him. He grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him hard, his body pressed hard against Peter’s in a challenge that he immediately accepts.

The kiss lasts a while, and then a while longer, and then they do a lot more than kiss, right there against Peter's front door.

It's _awesome_.

Even more awesome is that, after two quick trips to the bathroom to clean up, Peter orders them Chinese and they settle in to watch some stupid comedy that Peter seems to be dreading. Honestly that’s the reason he’d picked it, just to mess with Parker, but even _he_ has to admit it’s even more stupid than he’d initially anticipated.

“Okay, this movie is boring as hell. We should do something else,” Sam finally says after half an hour of torture, kicking at Peter’s ankles haphazardly just to annoy him.

Peter snorts, retaliating for the kicking by shoving Sam with his arm. “I told you it would be bad didn’t I?” He looks too smug for his own good.

“Yeah yeah, but since when have you ever had good taste?” Sam huffs. He can’t resist giving him one last shove, just for the fun of it.

Peter raises an eyebrow, looking comically unimpressed. “I was gonna argue but then I remembered I’m sleeping with _you_.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah Webs. Best decision you’ve ever made.”

“Whatever loser, what do you wanna do then? Play games like when we were in high school?” Peter asks sarcastically.

“You got Guardians of the Galaxy?” Sam asks, not skipping a beat. It's kind of hilarious how stupid Peter looks when he takes him off guard, but he's quick to recover, laughing and standing up to go look under his tv stand.

“Yeah I got it somewhere in here. Talk about a blast from the past. I haven't played this since before we left for school,” Peter says as Sam stares at his ass. Hey, it's not as pervy when you're sleeping with the guy you're checking out okay?! And Peter has a perfect ass. It's fun to look at, especially when he's bent over, his pants all tight so he can see how firm and round his cheeks are and-

“Huh? Oh yeah, dude same,” he says, shaking his head as Peter grins at him over his shoulder. His feeling that Peter knows exactly what he was just doing is cemented when the other man wiggles his hips, shaking that cute butt at him cheerfully.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” Peter croons.

“Wow we really are going back to high school aren’t we? Guess I shouldn’t be _that_ surprised you didn’t mature much,” Sam laughs as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, checking it to keep his eyes off of Peter as he sets up the game.

“I know you are but what am I?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “That didn’t even make any sense.”

“You don’t make any sense,” Peter grins, straightening up and waving the controllers at him cheerfully.

“Ugh, whatever Parker. You wanna make this interesting?” Sam suggests when Peter comes back to the couch and hands him a controller. “How about a bet?”

Peter looks intrigued. “What kind of bet are we talking here? Am I going to end up at the mercy of some loan shark because I bet away the family fortune on a game with a talking raccoon in it?”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“No dumbass. Not a money bet. I was thinking more like loser has to do whatever the winner says.”

Peter grins widely. Sam remembers that grin. That’s Parker’s ‘Challenge Accepted Prepare to Lose’ grin. Sam flashes one back.

“Deal,” Peter says, sticking his hand out to shake on it like a nerd, “You're gonna regret that.”

“I really really doubt it.”

Peter’s grin turns sly, and Sam feels a shiver run down his spine. “We’ll see sunshine. How about some rules?”

“Alright,” Sam hums thoughtfully. “Since it’s co-op rules are you play until you lose all your lives, then whoever‘s left has to beat the game on his own or else it's a tie and no one wins.”

Peter tilts his head thoughtfully, as though he’s trying to figure out how Sam could possibly cheat. “Hmm… yeah okay. Sounds fair enough. No other rules?”

“Anything goes,” Sam grins, readying his elbow for some well-placed shoving and jabbing.

“Let’s do it then,” Peter grins, pressing Start before Sam has a chance to figure out what’s happening.

Despite the dirty start, Sam easily manages to outfly Peter, racking up the points fast enough that even Peter’s shoving and shouting does little to stop him.

“No fair! You’ve clearly been wasting your life playing nothing but this game for the past ten years!” Peter yelps as he barely misses smashing into an asteroid. “I call shenanigans!”

“Nope. Haven’t touched it since high school,” Sam says proudly. “Some of us are just have natural talent. While others…” Sam watches Peter’s ship explode from a well-aimed ricochet shot from Sam’s ship. “Heh. Others just naturally suck.”

Peter grumbles, down to his last life and pushes Sam so hard he almost falls right off the couch. He brings his A game from that point on, weaving and dodging like his life depends on it, and even manages to take one of Sam’s lives by forcing him to crash into an asteroid.

“Ohhh suck it!” Sam says after a few more minutes of gameplay, his fist pumping the air as he takes out Peter's ship for the third time in a row.

“Ughhh, you're the worst,” Peter grumbles, tossing his controller off to the side as his ship disappears off the screen, leaving Sam the only player left. He gives Sam a displeased look, and then something in his expression shifts, enough that it sets Sam on edge but not enough for him to know why exactly.

Peter shrugs. “Oh well. Guess you're gonna win.”

What is he just gonna give up?

Sam is a little disappointed if he's being honest. Peter never used to give up so easily when they were teenagers. He used to at least make loud sounds or try to throw Sam off his game. Not that he isn't pleased to have Peter at his mercy it's just... this is a bit of a letdown.

Still... that doesn't mean he can't do a bit of gloating.

“Oh yeah! That's right Parker I totally kicked your... kicked... what are you... ohh,” Sam groans as Peter leans forward, his hand sliding slowly but firmly up along the length of his thigh.

He's about to call him out for cheating, because impromptu hand jobs are totally cheating, but before he can even open his mouth to point this out Peter is sliding smoothly off of the couch, nudging Sam's legs apart so that he can settle snugly between them on his knees.

He looks up at him through his lashes, a wicked gleam in his eyes and eases the button of Sam's jeans open.

“If you think you can distract me, it's not gonna work,” Sam says, switching to single player, though he's tempted to just pause the game and watch as Peter presses kisses to his thighs while he drags the zipper down.

Peter just hums, mouthing him hot and wet through his boxers. Sam is pretty sure all the blood in his body is abandoning his brain, which must explain why he hits start despite the fact that his very pretty friend is currently _sucking_ at him through the thin fabric.

By the time he's done teasing Sam is squirming on the couch, already finding it difficult to concentrate. Peter gives him a long slow lick all the way up his length and Sam flies directly into a wall, his ship exploding in a rain of fire.

“This is nggg, totally unfair,” Sam says, trying to keep his hips from bucking up as Peter's mouth does absolutely _filthy_ things to the head of his cock.

Peter pulls back, licking around him like he's a goddamn lollipop before he smirks up at him. “This is just payback for the other night at the bar.”

Sam grips the controller tighter when Peter decides that now is the time to show off his skills, taking him down deep into the heat of his mouth and sucking hard enough that Sam cries out, mashing the buttons and by some stroke of luck takes out an enemy ship.

“F-fuck yeah,” he breathes, resting his controller on the top of Peter's head. That earns him a huff of annoyance from the man in his lap, but Sam is so beyond caring. Pete takes him in deep, then pulls up to almost the tip, repeating the motion over and over until his head is bobbing so hard that Sam can't even use him as a makeshift table anymore. But then again Sam is too busy squeezing his eyes shut, arching his back into every pass of Peter's perfect mouth and relishing in the feeling of Peter's nails digging into his thighs to really care.

Peter makes a completely pornographic sound around his cock and takes him in deep enough that his nose almost touches Sam's stomach, his hand coming up to toy with Sam's balls and Sam whimpers, destroying another ship as he struggles to keep his focus.

Fuck Peter is good at this. He's all hot wet suction and pleased little noises, and the things his fingers are doing... Sam hisses a breath as his thighs begin to tremble.

“So... fucking... close,” he says as his ship nears the end of the line. If he can just make it a little farther...

Peter's lips slide back up his length, so slowly that Sam wants to scream, the hot drag of them sending heat throughout his entire body and getting him perilously close to the edge. He risks a glance down to his lap and meets Peter's eyes, gorgeous and darkened with lust which only makes the hint of blue even more alarmingly attractive. Fuck. He's been watching Sam's face this whole time with that _hunger_ so plain in his heavily lidded eyes. And the way his lips look stretched around his cock is practically sinful. He could reach down right now, drag a finger along the bruised red line of them and-

A hail of gunfire makes him tear his eyes away from Peter and focus back on the screen where his health bar is dangerously low. “F-fucking... shit.”

Peter seems to realize he's close to dying because Sam can _feel_ him grin against the head of his cock before he sucks so hard that Sam is seeing stars.

“Yes!” he shouts triumphantly as his last ditch blast hits the enemy ship, sending it spiraling to the ground. Then, “Fuck, yeah! Peter just like that!”

Peter gives him one last hard suck, dipping down to swallow his length before pulling off entirely at the sound of the music that signals Sam's victory. He sighs, then licks at the head of Sam's dick, lapping up some of the precome there and making him shiver.

“I win,” Sam breathes, his voice shaking. Sure it was on his last life and he was dangerously close to dying, but a win is still a win.

“I guess you did,” Peter says slyly, not seeming at all put out about it. In fact, he's grinning from ear to ear, still crouched between Sam's legs with his breath coming in warm puffs of air against Sam's cock. “So I guess that means I gotta do what you say huh?”

Sam smirks and he can actually _see_ Peter shiver at the look he's giving him. It's a good feeling.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders, licking his dry lips as Peter moves to unbutton his shirt. “And come sit on my lap.”

Peter makes a breathy little sound, stripping off his shirt and jumping to his feet in order to fumble with the button on his pants with shaking hands.

“Slowly,” Sam tells him, his grin at the absolute height of smug levels, but for once Peter doesn't seem to mind. Peter's fingers slow, thumbing the button open as his hips make little circles like he's dying to grind the impressive erection that Sam can see straining against the front of his pants against something. _Anything._

 He drags the zipper down slowly, each inch making Sam itch more and more to get his hands on him and make him moan. He wants to make him lose that control, make it so that he can't hold himself together enough to tease him like this.

Peter's hand rubs down his length, feeling every inch of hardness through the soft looking cotton of his boxers.

“You like putting on a show?” Sam asks, and that for some reason is what makes the colour rise to Peter's cheeks. Leave it to Parker to strip for him without a care but blush at a few simple words.

“Yeah,” he replies, his fingers skimming back up and dipping below his waistband. “I think you're kinda liking it too.”

Sam doesn't bother to reply to that, not when Peter is easing his boxers down and showing off all that gorgeous skin. He bends to kick his pants off, and Sam can't help but think of all the other ways he could have Peter bending over for him.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes, not even sure where this is coming from. All he knows is that he wants to see those long fingers closed around Peter's cock. Wants to hear more moans like the little one Peter makes as he follows Sam's command, keeping his touches slow and deliberate and arching his back a little into the feeling.

“I thought you wanted me on your lap?” Peter laughs a little breathlessly.

Right. He had plans. Plans which Peter and his stupid sexy body almost made him forget.

“Who says you can't touch yourself on my lap Parker,” he says, and then suddenly Peter is there, pressed up against him and kissing him deeply, both of them smiling into the kiss.

Fuck he's hot. His body is warm and his mouth is warmer, and Sam can _feel_ his hand moving, still stroking himself between their bodies as they kiss messy and open, and so so good.

When he finally needs air he pulls back, his eyes drifting to his lap where Peter's hand is working his own cock, just teasing inches away from Sam's own.

He whines a little bit, his hips bucking forward of their own accord to meet his subconscious need for Peter to be touching him too.

“What? You want something?” Peter teases, his wrist twisting with each upward stroke. “I thought you were supposed to be telling me what to do. You won fair and square after all.”

“Ugh just touch me,” Sam growls, and then he's gasping as Peter takes him in his hand, their lengths sliding together within the circle of his fingers.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck Sam,” Peter breathes, and Sam can't help but drag him in for a kiss.

“We need supplies,” he says, pressing a line of kisses down Peter's neck all the way to his throat. He drags his teeth over Peter's pulse point and the hand on his cock tightens reflexively, adding just a bit more friction and making them moan in tandem.

“In my wallet,” Peter says, and Sam wastes no time in reaching over to where it sits on the side table, opening it with shaking fingers to find a condom and a packet of lube ready and waiting.

“You're such a boyscout Parker,” he laughs, tearing the packet open and coating his fingers.

“Hey! There's nothing wrong with... oh oh with being... responsible _god Sam_.” Peter shivers as Sam's fingers slide behind him, gently teasing him and making him rock forward against his cock. “S'cold.”

“Whoops sorry,” Sam says, although he's pretty sure Peter can tell he's not. “Let me make it up to you.”

He kisses Peter as he fingers him open, swallowing Peter's gasps and needy little moans, and muffling his own into the kiss as Peter grinds forward against him with each thrust. Pete's hand gropes its way up onto Sam's, stealing the condom from his hand and ripping open the package with a desperate intensity that makes Sam grin against his mouth. He bites Peter's lower lip and delights in the low pained sound he gets for his efforts, even as Peter's hand rolling the condom down his length elicits an embarrassing sound from his mouth in return.

The rest of the lube Peter smoothes down Sam’s erection, and then he's raising himself up and Sam is sinking so deep, so fucking good into his body.

Peter moans, the most shameless sound Sam has ever heard, and he grins, biting at his lips as he leans forward for a kiss.

“This is the best prize I've ever gotten,” he groans, raking his nails down Peter's back.

Peter laughs, biting his lip as he runs a hand up his own chest to toy with a nipple. “You told me to touch myself right?” he practically purrs, in a low grumbling voice that nerdy ass Peter Parker should _not_ be able to achieve.

“I meant a little lower actually,” he says, groaning and canting his hips up, meeting Peter's thrusts and trying to make him moan. He achieves his goal, as Peter makes a soft little noise in response to a thrust, grabbing Sam's shoulder with one hand, the other trailing teasingly down his own chest.

“Mmm like this?” he asks. Sam's eyes follow the hand all the way to the base of Peter's cock, and then back up his length. Peter grinds in his lap slowly, his hand smearing the precome from the tip of his cock down his length until it's shiny and wet. He shudders, finally managing to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous sight in order to kiss Peter senseless.

“Now, you just sit back and let me do the work,” Peter growls when they break apart, his eyes dark and his expression wicked.

Peter's hands shove his shoulders back against the couch, and Sam feels a little thrill of excitement at the way he keeps him pinned there, riding him hard like his life depends on it. He keeps slamming himself down on Sam's cock so hard that Sam is worried they might break the couch, but there's no way he's ever going to tell him to stop or slow down. Not when it feels this incredible.

Peter arches his back as he works, his spine bowing in a distractingly gorgeous arc as he rolls his hips over and over, fucking himself on Sam's cock. Sam whimpers, feeling like the tables have very much turned. When he had started this he had expected to be in control, but with Peter using his cock like this it's very clear that he isn't. And fucking christ, does he ever like that.

“Wanna come... god I need-” he breathes, his hands tightening hard enough on Peter's hips to bruise. Peter's fingers pry his hands off, pressing his arms back and pinning them against the couch.

“Not until I'm done with you,” Peter whispers, holding his wrists tight and grinding himself down against him painfully slowly. Sam makes a strangled sound as Peter keeps it up, building the speed slowly, making Sam shake, making him wait for the relief he needs. He's rocking in Sam's lap, so hot and tight and wet and perfect around his cock that Sam feels like the whole world is shattering around him, leaving only Peter and the agonizing pleasure he's giving him.

“God, fucking, _fuck_ ,” Sam cries out as Peter shifts his angle and starts _bouncing_ again.

“You still liking your prize?” Peter pants, his cock rubbing against Sam's stomach, smearing precome across his abs. “Is this what you wanted?” He's smiling, his eyes wicked and knowing, like he doesn't even need Sam's shakily exhaled “yes” to know the answer.

“Please,” he begs, watching Peter throw his head back in pleasure. “Please.”

Peter grins wide, moving Sam's hand from the couch to his cock. “Come on then, make me come for you,” he says, not so much letting Sam jerk him off as just fucking up into his hand with each movement of his hips. “Yeah that's right. Tighter, god, just like that.”

Sam is ready to sob by the time Peter comes between their bodies. He sure feels like he might when Peter takes a moment to collect himself before starting back up, riding him hard again despite the fact that he's completely spent.

“Oh God, Peter, yes,” he moans as his orgasm crashes through him. He squeezes his eyes shut as he comes inside of Peter, unable to take the sight of his face, blissed out and flushed with pleasure and so ridiculously hot it actually hurts.

Sam expects him to roll off, but instead Peter keeps going, wringing something that is uncomfortably close to a sob from Sam's throat. “Oh. Oh _fuck_ ,” he cries out, and then Peter has his arms pinned and god god fuck he's not _stopping_. He just keeps moving, rolling his hips and watching Sam's face as he bucks and writhes beneath him, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Should I stop?” Peter asks, still rolling his hips, though he does sound concerned beneath the heavy breaths he's taking.

“No! No just Peter, Peter I- fuck fuck fuck it's so- fuck _Peter please please please,_ ” he begs, not even sure what he's asking for. All he knows is that he's never been this sensitive before in his life, and Peter's muscles working around him are enough to make him shake hard in what feels like it could possibly be another orgasm. But god that isn't possible. Is it?

Peter stills his hips, kissing every inch of Sam's face that he can, the corners of his eyes, his nose, his cheeks and chin, until he finally reaches his mouth. Sam lets him swallow the pathetic little noises he's making as Peter's hands run soothingly over his shoulders and sides and he lifts up so that Sam can slip out of him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes reverently once Peter pulls back, and from the look on his face Peter agrees.

“That was okay?” he asks, kissing Sam's face again.

Sam gives him as blank of a look as he can, which isn't too difficult since he's still busy trying to scrape up what remains of his brain from where it's leaked out his ears. “Are you fucking kidding me? That was _awesome_ ,” he says feelingly.

Peter snorts a laugh, rolling the condom off of Sam in an intimate gesture and tying it off. He climbs shakily off of the couch and Sam once again admired his ass as he heads to the garbage to toss it out.

“Man, you tired me out,” Peter says, wandering back and gently taking a seat beside Sam.

Sam hums in agreement, kicking his feet up onto the couch and laying back against the armrest. “Nap?” he questions, smiling as Peter leans his head against the opposite end of the couch.

“Yeah why not,” he says genially, kicking at Sam's feet. This begins a leg tussle the likes of which Sam is sure this couch has never seen before, until they give it up as a truce.

Sam smiles down at Peter as he closes his eyes, a smile on his stupid lips too. For such a loser Parker sure is a good lay. And an even better friend.

And any other thoughts he might be having about the nerd? Those are just a post orgasmic trick of his mind. Or at least that's what he tells himself firmly as he settles in for a nap, Peter's legs tangled up in his own.


	5. Chicken Soup For the Fuckbuddy Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is worried and Peter is sick and tired.

Sam has had a long few weeks. Between his new responsibilities at the restaurant and plumbing issues at his apartment he’s been hard pressed for time. So when Wednesday _finally_ rolls around he feels like it couldn't have come quickly enough. After all Sam has been looking forward to today since Tuesday last week, and he definitely needs to blow off some steam.

One good thing about a friends with benefits situation is knowing for sure that you'll be having sex no matter how hectic life gets. Both him and Peter live busy lives, so sometimes all the can really do is plan a hookup when they have time. If they were in a relationship Sam might feel worse about spending almost every waking hour at the restaurant. But with Peter he at least knows the other man is just as busy and is still willing to schedule in some time to _get_ busy with him without being offended that he isn't taking him out on dates or something.

Then again, even if they were in a relationship it's not like Peter has been available a lot for the past two weeks judging from his texts.

Today was the only day both of them had free, and Sam has been thinking about it since they'd first made the plan. After all, with all this time between encounters he's had a lot of time to think. He's got _ideas_. Ideas that make his pants feel just a little bit tighter whenever he thinks about them.

Which is why he's especially annoyed when Peter doesn't answer his fourth text of the day.

“What the fuck Parker,” he mumbles to himself as he checks his phone for the fifteenth time in three minutes. Sure he might be acting a little bit eager, but the promise of getting laid will do that to a guy.

Maybe Peter is busy… but he's also texting king of the world, especially when they are trying to schedule a booty call, so his complete radio silence is a little bit suspicious, and Sam can't help but feel a bit nervous that something might be wrong.

“Fuck this,” he mutters at around five o'clock, and heads over to Peter's apartment to see what's up.

He knocks on the door as soon as he arrives, full of righteous rage (and maybe just a little bit of worry), but Peter doesn't answer. Which would be fine if Sam couldn't hear the tv on just beyond the door.

Trying again still gets no response, so he knocks a third time for longer, gaining speed as he goes and calling out Peter's name. “Dork-brain, you in there? Don't make me knock down this door.”

Peter's neighbours are going to hate him, but not even that thought stops Sam from pounding out the tune of Can Can on Peter's door with his knuckles. It's only after _that_ fails that he really starts to worry.

He huffs, giving it up as hopeless and instead checks under the matt, laughing to himself when he actually finds a key there. “Seriously Parker?” he says to himself, suddenly hit with a rush of nostalgia. He remembers berating Peter for the stupid key placement back when he had lived with his aunt, though at the time Peter had just given him some bullshit about it being so obvious that no one would ever expect it. He figures he'll get the same lecture when he brings it up today.

With key in hand he pauses, staring at the door. Maybe this is a hint. Maybe Pete wants him to chill, to give him some space and just doesn't know how to tell him?

Nah. Sam doubts it.

 Peter has never once hesitated to tell him to back off before, preferring to straight up tell him to go to hell than beat around the bush. Still, it might be just a little bit creepy to break into his apartment just because of a few ignored texts...

The door creaks open just as he starts to turn away, revealing Peter at about ankle level, clearly having dragged himself across the room to get to the door. If he wasn't so terrified Sam would think it was kind of funny seeing the top of Peter's head for once. “Sam?” he croaks, looking up at him and seeming almost amused. “Offenbach? Really?”

Sam swings the door open, already on his knees and checking Peter over for injuries. “Shit Pete, what the hell? Are you okay?”

Peter nods, looking a little bit like he might throw up from the motion, and suddenly Sam fears for his clothes. “Got a little dizzy on the way to the door,” he manages to say, though his throat must be terribly sore to sound as bad as it does.

He tries to stand and nearly faints until Sam gets his hands under his arms, helping him to his feet and over to the couch. Peter immediately flops down, curling up into a miserable little ball and pulling a stray hoodie up off of the floor to cover himself with. He's shivering Sam can see now, and from the utter disarray of the room he figures the poor guy has been on the couch all day long.

“Dude, you look like shit” he says, and Peter uses what seems like a considerable amount of his remaining strength to turn his head and give Sam his best glare.

“Why are you even here?” he groans pathetically, before his eyes light up in sudden realization. “Wait... crap! Our da- our hookup! Fuck Sam I'm sorry!”

Sam rolls his eyes, kicking at a balled up kleenex with his foot. “Seriously Parker I do _not_ want to make out with you right now. You're way snottier than usual for one thing,” he says, trying not to let on how worried he actually is. “Besides I've kinda been preparing for the possibility that this wasn't going to happen after the third unanswered text.”

Peter frowns, reaching up above his head and feebly groping for his phone, as though he doesn't believe that Sam could have possibly texted him. It'd be annoying if it wasn't so amusing, and besides Sam can't really be pissed at him when he looks so awful and fragile.

“Shit Sam, I didn't see these,” Peter rasps as he squints at the missed texts. His eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and the bags under them are so dark that Sam thinks he looks a little bit like a zombie. And not even a cool Walking Dead zombie either. “Sorry.”

“Shut up dude, oh my god, you look half dead,” he says, walking over and placing his hand on Peter's forehead. “And you have a fever! I don't care that you didn't text me back that's whatever... but clearly you can't take care of yourself. How did you even get this sick?”

Peter breathes a sigh that sounds far too wheezy for Sam's comfort. He really hopes he won't have to take this dumb nerd to the hospital.

“It's flu season?” he says, shivering a little and curling up into a tighter ball under his hoodie. “And I had to work a few extra events this week to help out a friend so I haven't had time to rest a lot. Plus May's birthday is coming up and money is tight...”

“You know what'd be a good present for May?” Sam interrupts him, partially to keep Peter from talking anymore and hurting his throat. “Her only nephew not _dying_ because he overworked himself to buy her a new hat,” Sam shakes his head. Sometimes he worries about Peter. The dork is way too sweet for his own good, and Sam isn't surprised it's ended up biting him in the ass like this.

Peter opens his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a coughing fit that practically shakes the walls.

“Don't talk dumbass, you'll just make it worse,” Sam shakes his head, grabbing a blanket off of the couch and replacing the hoodie with it. Peter curls up, his trembling form looking strangely small, though logically Sam knows that Peter is taller than him. His expression is torn halfway between pleasure at the new warmth the blanket provides and guilt that Sam has to take care of him. “Have you eaten anything lately?” Sam asks him, trying to quell the soft fond feelings blooming in his chest seeing Peter like this. This is just like high school, only worse.

“Uh... I had some cereal,” Peter says between coughs as Sam grabs him a pillow and props it up under his head.

“For lunch?”

“No... this morning,” he replies, sounding for all the world like a guilty child. Sam can imagine him using that voice on his aunt, and he wonders if back in the day she'd felt like he does right now. Charmed but still annoyed.

“Dumbass,” he mutters fondly, certain that May had never called Peter that. The closest she had ever gotten was saying something along the lines of “Peter is a darling but sometimes he can be a bit obtuse when he wants to be.”

Sam sighs, tucking the blanket in around Peter's feet so they won’t slip out and get cold. “You just lay there and don't you dare do anything except nap. I'm going to go make you some soup.”

“Don't make it spicy,” Peter replies, sounding utterly pathetic with his stuffed up nose and raspy voice.

Sam pats his head before heading to the kitchen. “You know spice is good for getting rid of a cold right Parker?” He grins at the groan he gets in response and then gets to work, rummaging through Peter's messy kitchen to find the ingredients he needs.

He just makes a simple chicken noodle soup, the same recipe May had once taught him, only with a tiny bit of extra spice he'd picked up from his mom's cooking. It's not enough that Peter will notice (after all he's white bread but even _he_ can handle a _little_ bit of heat) it's just enough to give his immune system a bit of a kick.

When he brings it out on a tray Peter is dozing on the couch, his hair a gross mess sticking up every which way as he drools on his pillow. Sam feels a weird impulse to press a kiss to his sweaty temple. He could probably pass it off as checking for a fever if he hadn't already done that with his hand. Instead he places the soup on the coffee table and plunks himself down on Peter's legs, surprised when he doesn't wake up at the sudden weight. “Hey Parker, you aren't dead are you?” he asks, gently shaking his shoulder.

Peter blinks up at him blearily like a newborn puppy, his eyes shifting from Sam's face to the soup on the table.

“Can't sit up with you on my legs,” he manages, and Sam notes that his voice sounds more and more raw every time he speaks. He's going to have to run out and grab him some popsicles.

“Yeah yeah. You want me to spoonfeed you too?” Sam asks sweetly as he shifts his way down to the small amount of couch available to him. Peter glares silently at him as he sits up, then grins the smallest most miserable smile Sam has ever seen as he makes grabby hands for the soup.

“You're sick, not dead,” Sam complains even as he leans forward to grab the tray, placing it on Peter's lap. “There you go your majesty.”

Peter gives him a grateful look and slurps up a spoonful of soup, making a small approving sound as he swallows.

“Eat slow, if you puke on me I'm gonna be so pissed off.”

Sam watches him take little sips for a while before he decides to get up and gather all of the crumpled up tissues off of the table and floor, complaining the whole time about how gross Peter is. The other man for his part just takes the abuse, happily eating half of the bowl of soup before he becomes too nauseous to continue. Sam takes all of the tissues and the bowl back into the kitchen and disposes of it before washing his hands thoroughly. He might have to take care of this dumb loser, but that doesn't mean he has to get sick too.

When he comes back Peter is lying down again, though this time he's still awake.

“Thank you Sam. You don't have to stay, I know this isn't exactly how you thought we'd be spending the night,” he says, using far too many words for someone whose throat souns like it'd been through a blender. Weirdly Sam can't help but find his voice a little bit adorable when it's all hoarse and cracking like this.

“Oh yeah sure. I'll leave you here and they'll find your body tomorrow because you're useless at taking care of yourself, and my fingerprints all over your apartment. Nice try Parker, but I'm staying until you're better. Now move your feet, I wanna watch tv while you sleep.”

Peter bites his lip, probably to keep himself from rambling on and on like he usually does, and tucks his feet up enough for Sam to sit down. As soon as he's seated Sam grabs his legs, placing his feet on his lap and making sure both of them are entirely covered by the blanket. “I'm here because I want to be,” Sam adds once they're settled, his hand resting on Peter's knee. That seems to what finally convinces Peter to settle down and try to rest, pressing his coughs against the pillow as he slips into a fitful sleep.

Once Peter is sleeping more soundly he'll have to sneak out for those popsicles and some cold medicine. He doesn't need to ask to know Peter doesn't have any, he'd snooped thoroughly enough through his kitchen and bathroom to know there was none. At least he knew Peter had cayenne pepper and honey to make the tea his mom used to make him and his sister whenever they were sick. That and tequila, a shot of which had always been the adult cold remedy in his household.

Peter's breathing is still wheezy while he's sleeping, each inhale rattling around in his chest in a way that makes Sam extremely nervous. He finds himself idly drawing patterns on Peter's leg over the blanket as he studies Peter's sleeping face. It's strange, but despite the fact that he's been seeing Peter more and more over the past month he's never really had the opportunity to pay a lot of attention to Peter's face.

It's easier to see like this when he has his glasses off and his eyes are close so he won't catch Sam staring.

Peter has gotten almost unbearably handsome since high school, although Sam would never admit that out loud. Sam is pretty sure he's lost a lot of his baby fat since then, after all he would have remembered those gorgeous cheekbones and the beautifully chiseled line of his jaw. His skin looks so soft, smooth and less pale than he remembers now that he actually gets out in the sun every once in a while. His eyelids flutter as he sleeps, the dark circles under them making Sam's heart ache a little. He wonders how long it's been since Peter has had a good sleep, and in a moment of narcissism he thinks about how much better Peter would sleep with Sam in his arms.

But he can't think stuff like that. Not about his fuck-buddy. Just because Sam _knows_ he'd be amazing with Peter doesn't change the fact that a relationship isn't what his friend wants.

Sam watches Peter's lips turn down into a frown and he's tempted to press a kiss to them before he remembers that's not a good idea. Not only is he sick, but he wouldn't want that, it'd be a violation and he'd think it was weird. The thought makes Sam's chest hurt in a way he doesn't really want to think about.

The dumb dork rolls a little, pressing those pink lips into the pillow instead, and Sam sighs, patting his leg before gently easing it up so that he can escape.

“Smm?” Peter mumbles, still mostly asleep.

“Shh it's okay Pete, go back to sleep. I'm just going to grab you some stuff, I'll be right back,” he says softly, not bothering to lay on the insults since Peter is so out of it.

Peter makes a quiet noise of agreement and nuzzles his face back into the pillow, mumbling something that sounds a lot like “miss you.” He stands there for a moment longer, just watching the steady rise and fall of Peter's back as he breathes before turning around and quietly slipping out the door.


	6. BDSM Utensils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bro date and kitchen shenanigans

“So,” Harry begins, a knowing smile on his lips. “This is the restaurant your boyfriend works at?”

Peter sighs, tugging at the too-short sleeves of his plain blue dress shirt. He wishes he could look even half as effortlessly stylish as Harry does, striking the right balance between dressy and casual that a place like this requires. Sam had described The Milano as a nice place, but not too nice. Well actually his exact words were, “like don't wear a suit or anything Parker, you fucking dork, but don't wear sweats either,” but Peter had gotten the message. God he likes that asshole; he thinks with affection.

“For the last time Harry, he's _not_ my boyfriend. We're just friends.”

“Oh riiiiight. Friends who spend ninety percent of their time together and have sex marathons that _quote_ changed my life Har I swear to god _unquote._ Forgive me, how could I have possibly thought you were dating him,” Harry says, smirking.

“Haha okay, I get it. You're snarky and hilarious, and I'm totally dating Sam. Are you gonna be good and _not_ embarrass me in here or should I just go home and save myself the pain?” Peter grumbled, halfheartedly shoving Harry with his arm.

Harry looks far too amused for Peter's comfort, his eyes bright as he throws an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Who would have thought the day would come when Peter Parker was asking Harry Osborn not to embarrass him,” he laughs, leading them through the door.

Peter rolls his eyes and follows, resisting the urge to whistle at the sight that greets him once he’s through the door.

The lighting in The Milano is low, most of it coming from low hanging lamps over each table. There are a few booths and tables made of dark wood, with couples in nice clothing eating what looks to be the most delicious food Peter could hope to eat. But the thing that draws the most attention is the ceiling. It’s painted in gorgeous swirls of dark blue, black and white, and dotted with little lights. A vast galaxy set above the dining tables that makes Peter momentarily feel like he’s out in the woods, far from the city under the night sky.

“Figures he’d have a space restaurant,” Peter laughs fondly as they’re led to their seat. Harry raises his eyebrows but thankfully doesn’t comment. Maybe this won’t go too badly after all.

 “Huh, okay this all sounds delicious,” Harry says once they’re seated, sounding surprised as he looks over the menu.

Peter tilts his head down, hiding his proud grin. “Told you he was good. He came up with a lot of these recipes himself you know.” When he glances over Harry is giving him a knowing look, so he quickly adds “He’s an asshole but at least he’s good for something.”

“Right,” Harry says, still giving him that stupid _look_.

“So yeah, uh… I suggest the Polenta with Beans, Salsa and Sauteed Veggies. He made that for me the other day and it was better than an orgasm I swear.”

Sadly, this only strengthens the magnitude of the _look._ Peter takes a gulp of water and squirms in his seat until Harry takes pity and answers him.

“Yeah I think I’ll go with the orgasm polenta, I was checking that out anyways,” he laughs as Peter’s face goes bright red. He takes another huge gulp of water.

“So uh… how’s work been?” he asks desperately, thankful beyond belief when Harry takes the subject change in stride.   


They order when the waitress returns, and Harry gets them a bottle of wine, though Peter promises himself he’ll only have one glass. He’s not much of a drinker to begin with, only recently having taken it up, and he figures he’ll need to be sober to avoid embarrassing himself even worse than he already has so far tonight.

When it arrives Peter's food is just as amazing as he's come to expect from Sam, but it's fun to watch Harry's face as he takes his first bite. He figures that look of bliss must be what he looks like whenever Sam makes him food, which definitely explains why Sam is always smiling when he watches him eat.

“Wow Pete, this guy is a keeper,” Harry says, scooping up another generous forkful of polenta. “So, does he know we’re here? I’d like to say hello. After all I haven’t seen him since before we graduated high school,” he adds cheerfully.

Peter narrows his eyes, pointing his spoon accusingly. “You just want to embarrass me. I see right through you supposed best friend.”

“Hey, embarrassing each other is what best friends are for,” Harry says winningly. Peter feels vindicated by the fact that he has a bit of green stuck in his dashingly charming smile.

“He doesn’t actually. Know we’re here that is. So I could totally escape this night awkwardness free if I wanted to,” Peter huffs, taking another spoonful of his Black Bean and Mojo soup.

“Aw but where’s the fun in that Pete? I need to ask him all the questions a best friend gets to ask their buddy’s new boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Peter reminds him casually. “So unless you’re going to remind him to use protection…” He glares at the look in Harry’s eyes, pointing his spoon again. “No. You are not discussing my sex life with my- no. Bad Harry. You’re supposed to be the classy one.”

“Sexual safety is very gentlemanly,” Harry laughs, and Peter can’t help but snort at that.

“You’re a terrible friend and I never should have brought you.”

“I’m paying,” Harry reminds him.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I love you,” Peter emends, his tone extremely heartfelt as Harry laughs at him.

They're both way too full to get dessert, which of course means they order a flan to share. Peter grins when he sees it on the menu, remembering Sam making him taste test each incarnation of this exact dish until he'd finally gotten it perfect.

When they're both just about to burst from sinfully good food, Harry smirks across the table at him, giving him his patented 'Harry Has a Bad and Embarrassing Idea that will Mortify Peter’ look.

“Harry...” he warns, and his best friend holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Peter is not pacified. He’s certain that whatever Harry is about to do can’t be good.

“Excuse me,” Harry calls out before Peter can stop him, flagging down the waitress with the purple in her hair. “Can you give our compliments to the chef?” he asks, giving Peter a knowing look.

“Give _his_ compliments to the chef,” Peter says, deciding that if Harry is hell bent on making this a thing he’s going to at least do it on Peter’s terms. “If you're bringing him a message from me, tell him the hot guy at our table says he's a jerk.”

The waitress gives him a searching look, seeming more amused than anything. She must know Sam pretty well then.

“Peter,” Harry admonishes, though he seems amused. “You’re going to get us kicked out. What happened to you being worried about _me_ embarrassing you.”

Peter shrugs, grinning. “Hey we have a long standing tradition of me being the embarrassing friend. I didn’t want to break our streak.”

Harry raises a brow, about to respond, when something catches his eye over Peter’s shoulder and he pauses, smiling widely. “Uh oh. Here comes trouble. I think you pissed off the chef,” he laughs. Peter swivels in his chair, coming face to face with a very confused looking Sam. Peter can tell the moment he recognizes him by the exasperated smile that creeps it’s way onto Sam’s face.

“You asshole. You should have told me you were coming tonight!” Sam says, now beaming.

“What so you could spit in my food? Not likely,” Peter replies, Sam's smile proving to be infectious as he grins back widely.

When Peter happens to glance to the side, it's only to catch Harry smirking smugly like the cat that got the cream. He raises an eyebrow at Peter, and Pete can't help but blush a little bit under his scrutiny.

“Uh Sam, you remember Harry from high school right?”

“Oh yeah! Hey man, nice to see you again.”

“You too. The food was fantastic by the way. I'll certainly have to come back here again,” Harry says, and if Peter didn't know that Harry was _always_ like this he would have sworn he was doing his level best to charm Sam's pants off.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Sam says with a smile, before turning back to Peter. “What about you loser? Was it good?”

“Eh, it was fine I guess,” Peter says, earning a shove from both Harry and Sam at the same time. “Okay okay! Yeesh you two are violent. It was amazing, as always,” he admits, laughing.

Sam looks pleased, ducking his head a little.

“Well you guys have somehow outlasted all the other diners, so you want a tour of the kitchen?” Sam says. Peter looks around in confusion, realizing he's right. The restaurant is empty aside from them and the wait staff cleaning up. Huh. Between the food and Harry’s company he hadn’t even realized the time, let alone noticed the restaurant clearing out.

“Take us to where the magic happens,” Harry agrees genially.

They follow Sam into the back, and it feels a little bit wrong. He's never been in a restaurant kitchen before, and it sort of feels like a weird violation of the unwritten rules of eating out. He never figured he'd transgress the whole thou shalt not wander into the place where they make your food rule, but here he is. Sam has been introducing him to a lot of new things lately.

Peter grins, his thoughts straying into dirty territory.

“I’ll finish cleaning up, you can head home,” Sam tells a short, tough looking man, who shrugs and drops the cloth he’s been using to wipe the counter off with.

“Sounds good kid. Night,” he says gruffly, before heading out.

Harry raises an eyebrow at Peter, who shrugs in response. Sam doesn’t seem taken aback by the attitude, so he figures the guy must always be like that.

“So this is it,” Sam says, looking proudly around, before his eyes find their way back to Peter. “I’d offer you guys some food but-“ he laughs as they both groan, holding their stomachs in answer. “Heh, yeah that’s what I figured.’

“This is pretty state of the art,” Harry says, looking around the room. Peter tries to do the same, but he can feel Sam’s eyes tracing his body, taking in how he looks in his somewhat respectable clothing. From the grin on his face he likes what he sees.

It’s strange really. Peter been feeling like a shadow next to Harry all night. It’s nothing new. It's something which no longer bothers him really, something he had to get used to quickly having such a rich and handsome friend all his life. But with Sam he feels like he’s in the spotlight. Like even compared to Harry he’s finally something worth looking at.

It’s a nice feeling.

“Yeah,” Sam says, a little bit absently, turning back to Harry. “Yeah it’s all brand new appliances. We’ve been doing really well for ourselves lately.”

“Only because your food is out of this world,” Peter says, winking.

“Ohhh dude that was awful,” Sam groans in pain. He doesn’t smile, but Peter isn’t bothered. He’s got a lot more space puns where that came from.

“Hmm really? I thought it was pretty accurate. After all you’re a rising _star_ in the New York restaurant scene,” he giggles, earing another groan.

“Stop Webs, seriously,” Sam tries, but Peter just grins widely at him and opens his mouth for another stellar pun. Unfortunately, Sam is fast enough to slap his hand over Peter’s mouth, making him mutter grumpily against his skin.

“No puns in my kitchen Parker,” he warns.

Peter licks his hand, making Sam pull back with a yelp, wiping his palm on his apron.

“Well I think I’ll leave you two alone,” they both jump a little at Harry’s amused voice. “Talk to you later Pete,” he continues, giving Peter a knowing look. “It was nice to see you again Sam,” he adds politely.

“Uh, you too,” Sam says, both of them watching in awkward silence as Harry takes his leave.

“So?” Sam asks after a moment.

“So what?” Peter replies, looking around at the clean metal counters and warily eying the giant cooktops. Yeesh. No wonder Sam always has burns all over his hands and arms.

“So what do you think of the place jerkwad,” Sam says, wiping down the counter but sparing Peter an exasperated look over his shoulder.

“Oh right. It's nice... good atmosphere. The food was great, but I mean hey look at how _stellar_ the cook is,” Peter says, swiping the cutting board with planets engraved in it off of the counter and waving it at Sam cheerfully.

“I have knives,” Sam warns, but Peter can see that his cheeks are a bit pink from the praise, and he's struggling against a smile. “And a cheese grater. Don't test me Parker.”

“Okay okay!” Peter puts the cutting board down and holds his hands up in defeat. “Seriously though, it's a good restaurant. I mean the service was great, the food was great... the oldies music was an interesting touch.”

Sam shrugs.

“It was Peter's night to pick the music. The wait staff all get a day of the week to play whatever they want and shit. Except Gamora, she always picks this weird heavy metal so she doesn't get to touch the sound system anymore. But Peter chooses the same playlist every week, we're all kinda used to it.”

“Peter huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, ignoring his tone. “The one with less tattoos, he was probably flirting with the girl with purple in her hair all night?”

Peter thinks back, half wondering if tattoos are required to work here. He’ll have to ask Sam about his sometime, especially the bad ones. The fully sleeve of food makes sense for a chef, and that knife. Both are actually really sort of nice to look at. But the word ‘Familia’ tattooed across his back in the ugliest script Peter has ever seen? That one is going to be _fun_ to talk about.

“Oh right! The hot one,” he says slyly. It’s not exactly a lie either. The man _had_ been attractive. Peter was just going more for black hair these days.

Sam raises his eyebrows at him. “Seriously?”

“What?” Peter purrs, “Are you jealous?”

Sam snorts out a laugh, pushing past him so that he can start putting his cooking utensils away. “Nah, no worries Parker, you can hit on Quill if you want. I'm not _that_ into him,” he teases, opening what seems like a million drawers and placing each thing precisely in its spot. He has a spot of flour on his face, and Peter can't help but think it's kind of cute.

“Wow Sam. Way to make a guy feel special. Am I just one in a long line of Pete's? Do you have some kinda fetish?”

“Nah,” Sam spins around to face him, grinning widely. “I prefer the term kink.”

Peter laughs, coming over and standing close enough that he can feel the heat of Sam's body against his own.

“Seriously though, I'm just holding an experiment to see if every Peter in the world has bad taste in music. So far it's kinda looking like it,” Sam continues, leaning in until their arms are pressed together. He's smiling widely and he looks absolutely gorgeous in the bright lighting of the kitchen. He's still got that speck of flour on his cheek, and Peter can't resist reaching over to wipe it off any longer.

Sam's eyes close for a moment as Peter's thumb sweeps over his cheekbone and it makes something in Peter's chest feel tight and full, makes him feel like he's sinking and floating at the same time.

“Big talk from a guy with food all over his face,” he says, his voice a little bit quiet. At least it didn't shake. That would have been embarrassing.

Sam looks up at him like he's the most confusing person on earth, and the silence stretches between them too long, a weird tension that he can't quite place building and building until Peter can't take it anymore.

He casts his eyes around the kitchen, tearing them away from the hypnotizing blue of Sam's and finding that they land on...

“Wait wait, hold on. What the heck is this?”

Sam blinks like a startled bunny, a shadow flickering across his face and little frown forming on his lips as he tears his eyes away from Peter's to stare at the object he's grabbed out of the drawer and is flailing around.

“I mean talk about your kinks,” Peter says, waggling his eyebrows as he flails what looks like a tiny cat-o-nine-tails around.

Sam laughs, all traces of confusion melting away as he shoves against Peter's arm.

“That's to rub marinade on steak dumbass.”

Peter glances at it, the long rubber strands decorated with little balls all down the length swaying slightly. It looks like an S&M wet dream, now outfitted with sauce spreading capabilities.

“Uh huh. Sure it is. _Now_ I see why you got into this business,” Peter teases, smacking it against Sam's arm and making him yelp.

“Give me that,” Sam tries to snatch it out of his hand, no doubt to place it back in the drawer, but Peter is too fast. And too tall. He holds it above his head, smirking as Sam presses against him, tries to reach up to grab it. He even jumps for it for a second before he gives up with a huff, too proud to keep that up. “You're the worst.”

“I think you kinda like it,” Peter says, taking the opportunity to crowd Sam back against the counter, aligning their hips.

“I think you literally can't go two seconds without trying to get into my pants,” Sam shoots back, his arms coming up around Peter's neck despite his disapproving tone. He kisses him, a firm but too short press of lips, and Peter smiles at him.

“Well... we're all alone... just you and me back here in this big old kitchen with its big old counters...” Peter waggles his eyebrows and then laughs at Sam's absolutely scandalized expression.

“Dude! That is so unsanitary! This is my _kitchen._ I make people's _food_ here!” he squeaks, horrified.

“Aw c'mon,” Peter says through giggles, brandishing the sauce-o-nine-tails in front of him. “You don't wanna get all bdsm over on that weirdly intimidating oven?”

“You're literally so gross Parker,” Sam laughs, snatching it out of his hand and putting it back in the drawer where it belongs. “I'm banning you from my restaurant.”

“What? Noooo! How will I get delicious foo- oh wait you're at my apartment like every day. And I get to eat the same food, only free. I think I'll live.”

Sam shakes his head, patting Peter's cheek. “So stupid. Seriously such a dumbass. Why do I put up with you?”

“It's cause I'm cute like a puppy,” Pete singsongs, giving Sam his best wide puppydog eyes.

“You keep telling yourself that Parker.”

Peter watches Sam with a smile on his face as he finishes cleaning up. Sam is so relaxed here, almost like it's his home away from home, and Peter loves seeing how in his element he is. He can just imagine Sam calling out orders, running around making sure everything gets done and skillfully juggling the task of making lord knows how many meals for his customers, all with that air of confidence that makes him so attractive. It's so interesting, how the cockiness of his high school days is still there, but it's been tempered with a more genuine sense of confidence. It really drives home the realization that despite his moments of immaturity Sam has grown into a very impressive, and very _attractive_ adult.

Upon this realization, Peter does what is natural and completely ignores his thoughts on adulthood and maturity in order to wrap his arms around Sam's waist, impeding his ability to finish his cleaning as he blows a raspberry against Sam's neck.

Sam squeaks, struggling to escape the vice-like grip of Peter's arms, before giving it up as a lost cause as Peter's lips brush his neck in apology. “You know, I'm disappointed in you, but I'm not even surprised. You gonna let me go?”

“Mmm no, I kinda like having you here,” Peter mutters against his neck, and when he glances up Sam seems to be blushing a little bit. Adorable.

“Yeah, well I like getting home, which I'm never gonna be able to do if you keep hanging off me like some kind of leech.”

Peter resists the urge to bite him, but just barely. After all he does feel kind of bad for getting in the way of Sam's cleanup. And all of the other staff had left a while ago, practically running out the door while he'd been distracting Sam from doing his job.

“Wanna come home with me?” Peter asks, not sure where the impulse came from. All he knows is he likes being with Sam, and he likes fucking Sam, and the thought of going back to his cold empty apartment alone makes his chest ache.

“Can't. As much fun as that'd be I gotta get up early tomorrow to come back in,” Sam says regretfully, lacing his fingers with Peter's around his waist. “Raincheck?”

Peter nods, his hair tickling against Sam's cheek. “Raincheck,” he agrees, letting go unwillingly. If they were dating maybe he could have stayed there a moment. Maybe he could have turned Sam around, pressed his lips to his gently and-

There's no point in thinking about that. Because they aren't dating.

Still, Peter can't help the fierce sense of _longing_ that momentarily washes over him at the thought of it.

Sam finishes up quickly, walking Peter as far as the door before they have to part ways. “Hey uh, it's cool you came tonight.”

Peter exhales, his breath misting a little bit in the chilly air. Sam looks cute in his jacket a scarf wrapped around his neck and mittens on his hands despite the fact that it's only October.

“I've been meaning to for a while now. It's a great place you've got going Twinkle Toes,” he says, using the nickname as an excuse to push his arm up against Sam's for a moment.

“Yeah well, don't come too often Itsy Bitsy. You'll get me a health code violation,” he replies, rubbing his hands together to fight off the chill. Peter wishes he could reach out and hold them to keep them warm for him.

“Okay, I'm going home before I freeze to death. See ya,” Sam adds after a moment, giving Peter a wave. He really wishes he was coming home with him, if only so the night didn't have to end.

“See ya,” he echoes, and heads home alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misleading title was misleading. Sorry not sorry uwu


	7. Late Night Ice Cream Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things cool down with ice cream and then heat back up

It’s almost midnight when Peter’s doorbell rings.

He grumbles as he trudges to the door in his pajamas. He hadn’t quite made it to bed, but it was a close thing. Really, who comes to the door at this time of night? Drunk people and assholes that’s who. And he's not in the mood to deal with either of those groups. 

When he peeks through the peephole he finds that at least one of his guesses was right.

“I couldn't sleep,” Sam says, looking far too relaxed and not nearly awkward enough for someone showing up unannounced for a booty call. Especially since he’d literally just turned Peter down only a few hours before outside of his restaurant.

 There's also the fact that he's holding a big container, and Peter really doubts that it's full of lube.

At least he really hopes it's not.

“That's not lube right?”

Sam looks at him like he's insane, glancing down at the container with a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “What the fuck Parker, you're so weird.” That's fair Peter thinks as Sam pops the container open to give him a peek inside. “It's ice cream. Homemade,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

That is _a thousand_ times better than lube.

“Why didn't you say so in the first place? I was about to send you packing, but ice cream changes everything,” he says cheerfully, opening the door wider and ushering Sam inside.

“Wow I feel _so_ welcomed thanks Webs,” Sam deadpans, heading to the kitchen and opening up his cutlery drawer.

Peter grins, following behind him and watching as he grabs two spoons for them. “You must since you seem to be making yourself at home,” he chuckles, easily catching the spoon that Sam tosses at him.

“Well waiting for you to invite me to get comfy was gonna take a million years. May must be so disappointed in you,” he says, pushing past Peter again without grabbing any bowls.

“Uh hey Light Brite, did you forget something?”

Sam grins, waving his spoon at him merrily. “Let's go disappoint your aunt even more by eating right out of the tub.”

“I like how you think,” Peter grins as he follows Sam onto the couch. “Sorry aunt May.”

The ice cream is sweet and tart and probably better than any orgasm Peter has ever had in his entire life, and he can't help but make a noise as the first bite melts on his tongue.

“That good huh?” Sam says, smug and clearly very pleased at the vocal approval.

“Shadup,” Peter mutters, swallowing it down and eagerly scooping more onto his spoon, shoving Sam's out of the way in his eagerness, and just to see him get huffy.

They talk for a while and Peter has to admit it’s nice. He updates Sam on how his aunt has been, but Sam seems to already know most of what he tells him. When they were younger Peter’s aunt had been almost like a second mother to Sam before his parents and sister had moved to New York from Arizona, and Peter had known that Sam and May had kept in touch, but he hadn’t been aware of the extent of their interactions.

“Seriously you’ve been finishing most of these stories for me. I feel like you might visit aunt May more often than I do,” Peter says, feeling a private stirring of guilt. He tries to make time for his aunt, and calls her at least once a week, but it’s been a little while since he’s had time to actually head to Queens to see her in person. He’ll have to fix that.

They talk about Kaelynn next, how old she’s gotten, how weird it is that she’s in high school. How Sam is worried about her, worried about the people she’s friends with and the long walk and subway ride she has whenever his mom can’t pick her up from school.

They talk until the ice cream is almost all gone, Sam’s legs kicked up on top of Peter’s and their bodies pressed close together, sharing heat.

“Fuck it's so late. I'm gonna have to get up at four am if I want to shower before I go in,” Sam sighs after a while, finally placing his spoon down and stretching out his stiff limbs. Peter feels the loss of the weight of his legs keenly, but he ignores the feeling as best he can.

“Well,” Peter replies, an idea striking as he licks the last bit of ice cream off of his spoon. “You could always shower here. Tonight.”

“With you?” Sam asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.

Peter smiles his most winning smile, and licks the spoon again slow and deliberate. “I could be persuaded to join you, yeah.”

“Get your ass to the shower then, I don't have all night Webs,” Sam laughs, already heading that way as Peter scrambles to stand up.

By the time he gets to the bathroom Sam already has the water running, and has just started to strip down. Peter leans against the doorframe, watching even when Sam cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You just gonna stand there?”

Peter grins, a brilliant grin in the bright light of his bathroom. “I dunno, I _am_ kinda enjoying the view.”

“Hmm I bet,” Sam replies, turning around to give Peter an even better view of his ass as he bends to slip his boxers off. He tosses them back, and they very nearly end up on Peter's head. Would have, if he didn't have quick reflexes.

“Nice. Is that a little alien? So that's why your ass is so out of this world,” Peter laughs, tossing them onto the floor and watching the subtle way Sam's muscles shift as he climbs into the shower. Sam makes a displeased noise at the pun, a low groan that conveys just how little he thinks of Peter's humor. But Peter can't really bring himself to care about Sam's obvious lack of taste when he's so naked, and now so wet.

God he's gorgeous, not ripped or anything, but lean enough and strong, his skin tan and smooth and glistening with water, just begging to be touched and kissed and-

“Really Parker?” Sam says, turning around to wave something in Peter's face. Something blue and long and very... phallic. Shit.

“Uhhh...” Peter blushes, feeling the tips of his ears warm. “I was... it was gonna be a long day and I wanted... shut up!”

Sam's laughter is too loud in the enclosed space, especially for this time of night. “You are such a fucking nerd,” he says, placing the toy back on the shower caddy before Peter can snatch it and hide it away in a drawer or maybe just toss it out into the hallway. “You gonna take your clothes off? After all, it's been a long day,” Sam snickers, but Peter doesn't even care, too captivated by Sam's hand making a long slow trail down his chest to rest just above his groin.

“Yup. Undressing. Definitely doing that now,” Peter says, tripping as he tries to get his pajama pants off as quickly as possible.

Stepping into the shower he feels that old familiar discomfort at being naked around someone else, long engrained in him from his four long high school years of being teased and taunted in the locker room. Even now that he's filled out a little and even gotten some pretty great muscle definition he still feels the slight urge to cover himself up sometimes.

Only the look Sam gives him is _definitely_ not the stare of a locker room bully.

His eyes sweep down Peter's chest, taking his time to just _look_ at him. Even though they've seen each other naked before, it's still rare for them to take off all of their clothes, and even rarer for them to pause to take in the scenery before they are all over each other. The way Sam looks at him now is slow and surveying, and from the smirk on his face and... other evidence rather _lower_ on his body... he seems to like what he sees.

“C'mere Parker,” he encourages after a moment of Peter dithering nervously outside of the shower. “It's warm.”

Peter grins, ducking his head in a nervous nod. He's not sure why Sam does this to him, makes him feel that old familiar nervous shame, but also feel like... like he's being _cherished_. After all, it is weird. Fuck-buddies aren't supposed to look at each other like, well like they were the only source of light in the room, the one bright spot of warmth in a cold place. Sam looking at him like that had to be a trick of the light, or his mind filling in blanks with the wrong information. Trying to see what he wanted to see, instead of what was actually there. Which was why Peter tears his eyes away from Sam's face. It wouldn't do well to let Sam see that that was _exactly_ how Peter looked at him.

Sam pressed himself against Peter, and Pete took the opportunity to hold his face, pull him in for a long slow searching kiss. His hand slides down Sam's neck, around so he's holding him, feeling the tightness in his shoulders as their lips move together.

“You're stiff,” Peter mumbles against him, unable to resist the temptation of kissing him again to wait for his reply.

“That's kinda the point Parker,” Sam says, smirking as he tries to catch his breath once they break apart again. They're kissing again before he can reply, so Peter digs his fingers into the other man's shoulders, earning himself a soft little noise around his tongue.

He presses back carefully, until Sam's back hits the far end of the shower, and grinds his hips forward, moaning at how hard Sam is already.

“Fuck,” he says, his hands still massaging at Sam's wet skin. “Turn around.”

Sam gives him a look and turns around, smirking. “You gonna take care of me now?”

“Yeah, stay still for me,” Peter says, but instead of grabbing Sam's ass like he's dying to he digs his fingers back into the tight muscles of Sam's back. Standing around all day cooking has left him stiff and sore, and it’s kind of adorable how his groan of frustration turns into little groans and sighs of pleasure as Peter massages the ache

Peter's hands move in slow methodical circles, digging deep into the tightly knotted muscles of Sam's naked shoulders. It's nice to feel him melt under his fingers, and he feels a little thrill of victory each time he manages to wring a little sound from Sam's throat.

When Sam is all melty and loose under his hands Peter starts to press kisses along his neck, pausing to suck at his skin or graze his teeth along his pulse every so often just to feel Sam shudder beneath him.

“Mmm okay, this totally wasn't what I was expecting when you told me to turn around. Not that I'm- mmm- complaining.”

Peter laughs biting down a little harder where Sam's neck meets his shoulder. “Oh fuck right there,” Sam groans, his hands groping behind him to cling at Peter's hips. Peter traces Sam's shoulders down, sliding around and down his sides until his fingers are skimming low on Sam's stomach.

“Fucking tease,” Sam growls, tilting his head so that Peter can bite the same spot harder.

“Hey now! Language.”

Peter's hand closes around Sam's cock, stealing the reply from his lips in favour of a breathy moan. He takes his time, in no hurry despite the fact that Sam really should be getting to bed soon. But hey, Peter can't help it! It's far too much fun to slide his hand tantalizingly slowly up and down Sam's warm wet length. To toy with the head of his cock and feel the way his whole body squirms and shivers while he does it. Not to mention rubbing off against his ass and the back of his thigh, giving himself the friction he is so cruelly denying Sam.

“Ngg, you're fucking killing me, fuck fuck fuck,” Sam whines, clearly ignoring Peter's earlier comment about language.

“You feel so good,” Peter groans, stroking down his length with a tight fist and _feeling_ the pleasure it gives Sam as he quivers in his arms. “So good and hard and perfect in my hand. God, I got you all keyed up didn't I?” he says, amused but also alarmed. He has a tendency to let his mouth run away with him, but usually he's too embarrassed to talk dirty this early on in the foreplay. Or... at all really.

Sam doesn't seem to have any complaints, melting back against him, letting him kiss and bite wherever he wants and moaning unabashedly as Peter jerks him so so slow and good.

“Parker,” Sam groans. “Peter, _god._ ”

He grabs Peter's wrist, reluctantly pulling his hand away so that he can spin around and press their lengths together, every glorious inch sliding hot and wet between their bodies. He kisses Peter hard, wrapping his hands around his neck so he can kiss him deeply.

When he pulls back his pupils are blown wide, his hair wet and mussed and his chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He looks like every single fantasy Peter has ever had all rolled up into one person, and the sight of him literally makes him feel dizzy for a moment, his cock pulsing hot and so achingly hard between his legs.

“Now it's my turn,” Sam says, a smirk on his face as he presses a lingering kiss to Peter's lips before urging him to turn around.

Peter expects Sam's hands on his shoulders, so he can't help but jump a little when they start at the base of his neck instead, tracing the long line of his spine bump by bump until his fingers reach the dip of his tailbone.

He smiles when Sam grabs two handfuls of his ass and squeezes, making a joyful noise. Sam has a _thing_ for his butt. Not that Peter minds at all.

“Seriously Parker, for a nerd you have the nicest ass. This thing is like a work of art,” he says, giving it a little smack.

The sound Peter makes is far too much like a yip for his comfort, and is made all the worse by Sam laughing about it as he goes back to his stupid groping.

“Do you go around smacking the Mona Lisa like that?” he gripes, pushing back against Sam's warm hands anyways. He really wants to get on with it, already so hard from just being in the shower and touching Sam all over.

Sam laughs, the sound echoing pleasantly off of the shower walls.

“Aww did that hurt Parker? Here, let me make it up to you.”

The sound of Sam's knees hitting the tub is loud in his ears, and if his skin wasn't already rosy from the hot water Peter is certain he would have gone beet red when he realizes what Sam kneeling behind him means.

“What'cha doing there?” Peter asks anyways, because keeping quiet has never been one of his stronger points.

He feels Sam's smile against the small of his back and figures that must be his answer. Or maybe his hands spreading his cheeks. The feel of Sam's tongue wet and hot right at the cleft of his ass makes him shift, his legs spreading wider in encouragement.

“Told you,” Sam says, his breath warm against Peter's wet skin. “I'm making it up to you.”

He follows his words with a quick nip to Peter's cheek, but at the moment he really isn't inclined to complain.

The first press of Sam's tongue feels almost cool compared to the steamy warmth of the shower, and if asked Peter would blame that for his resulting shiver. The agonized moan on the second sweep of wetness over his hole however... he doesn't have a good excuse for that other than how good it feels; how hot it is to have Sam doing this to him.

He tries to make a joke, but all he can manage is a strangled noise when Sam pushes inside, spreading his cheeks wider with his hands so that he can press in as deep as he can.

“Ho-holy wow,” Peter breathes, and then groans when Sam laughs, his tongue still pressed inside of him. Sam's hands skim up the muscles of his thighs, trailing from the back around to the front, but never quite travelling far enough to be where Peter desperately wants them.

“You- ah” Peter breaks off in a breathy gasp as Sam _sucks_ before shakily continuing. “You're really- oh god, really good at this,” he says as Sam's tongue opens him up over and over.

Sam keeps going until he's just about ready to beg, pulling back to press another kiss to the small of his back. “Pass me the lube,” he says. “And your toy.”

Peter freezes, hand halfway to the lube. “Uh... what?”

He looks behind him to see Sam grinning wickedly back up at him. “You heard me Parker.”

Peter looks nervously between Sam and the dildo, considering his options. On the one hand he can feel his face heating up in embarrassment again at being caught with the dildo in his shower, and he'd really _really_ like to get fucked at the moment.

On the other hand... an image forms in his mind of Sam behind him, fucking him with it just as slow as Peter had teased him with his earlier hand job. Sam on his knees, or standing, pressing him against the wall and working the toy into his body, ignoring his own aching cock just so that he can watch as Peter falls apart under his ministrations.

Shit.

“Y-yeah. Here,” he says, fumbling quickly with the toy and lube as he hands them back, his face and neck flaming hot at the way Sam is smiling, all knowing and wicked and downright sinful. The blush only gets worse as he licks the head of the toy, sucking on it for a minute with his eyes closed and moaning around the length.

“Shit,” Peter mumbles, low under his breath. Sam grins, pulling the toy back out and spreading lube down its length in a way that makes Peter _really_ wish that was happening to his dick instead.

Unable to bear the sight much longer Peter turns and stares at the wall, waiting in barely contained anticipation for Sam's fingers and trying to keep his breathing even. Sam takes his sweet time, his fingers tracing up the back of his thighs, teasing him before he finally sinks in. Peter hisses, trying to relax despite the fact that he's so wound up he feels like he might snap.

“Mmm Sam,” he groans as Sam starts to fuck him on his fingers, two, then three as he kisses and bites at Peter's thighs and ass, leaving little teeth marks and bruises in his wake.

“You ready?” Sam asks, drawing his fingers out and leaving Peter far too empty.

“Yes, god yes please,” he whines, which would be far more embarrassing if Sam wasn't pressing the cool tip of the toy against him. “Shit.”

“I bet you were thinking of me while you used this weren't you?” Sam says, his voice a low grumble just barely audible over the sound of the running water.

Peter moans in answer, not sure he can handle if Sam decides to talk dirty to him while doing this.

“Yeah, I bet you were. Standing in the shower, thinking about me while you fucked yourself.” He presses it in until he can't get any deeper, making Peter groan, his cock jumping. “Did you think about this Pete? About me fucking you hard like this?”

“You were actually going a little harder than this,” Peter quips, grinning when Sam takes the bait and speeds up his thrusts, fucking him hard and deep and so good it makes his toes curl.

“Damn Parker, didn't know you were such a huge slut,” Sam laughs, pressing little biting kisses to the backs of his thighs as he fucks him with the toy.

He's just teasing, it's a flippant comment not meant to do anything other than make him laugh, but Peter feels a spike of arousal at his words, a deliciously good but surprising curl of something in his chest.

Huh.

That was unexpected. He'll have to file that away for further contemplation.

Right now though he's too busy riding the feeling as he rides the thrusts guided by Sam's hand. Fuck, it's so hard to stay upright like this, even with his hands grasping the shelves of his shower wall tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Sam, fuck Sam, come on,” he groans as he changes his pace, each long teasing pass suddenly achingly slow. It's nice, but it's not _enough_ especially not after the way he'd been fucking him a minute ago.

Whining and whimpering and bold begging get him nowhere, but Sam does slide back up, pressing close against his back as he keeps fucking him languidly, chuckling and muttering soft encouragements in his ear.

“That's good Pete, I'm liking those pretty sounds,” he whispers, sounding far too amused for someone whose cock is rock hard and pressed against the curve of his ass.

“I legitimately hate you right now,” he whines back, grinding himself back hard against the toy and Sam's cock. The moan he gets in response is almost worth this teasing.

Or maybe not, because suddenly Sam is pulling the toy out leaving Peter empty and aching to be filled again.

“What-?”

He turns to look over his shoulder only to be met with the very welcome sight of Sam touching himself, spreading lube in quick desperate strokes with his eyes dark, half-lidded and unfocused.

“Oh,” he says eloquently, pushing his hips back subconsciously. Sam seems to appreciate the view if the little noise of approval is any indication.

His cock teases at Peter, rubbing slick and hot between his cheeks as he makes impatient little sounds of frustration. Sam just laughs before lining himself up and pressing in, working in deeper and deeper in increments until his hips are pressed against Peter's back, his cock as deep as it can get. Peter moans at the stretch of it, the feeling of being _full_ and _claimed_ and _wanted._

He pants hot breath against the shower wall, one hand moving back to grip Sam's hip tight enough to bruise.

“Gimme a sec,” he pants, and Sam stills his hips, pressing little kisses all along Peter's shoulders.

He closes his eyes, just feeling for a moment, adjusting to the way Sam feels inside of him, pressed against him. It feels like he's being enveloped and god does he want more. “Fuck fuck, okay move.”

Sam laughs and rolls his hips, barely pulling out. His cock grinds so deep so _good_ but it's not _enough_ and Peter is shaking with need, desperate for it. “Sam, move,” he commands. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Yeah,” Sam pants thrusting harder, full perfect thrusts that make Peter moan loud and shamelessly. “Yeah, that's it Pete. Fuck you're gorgeous. God, shit.”

Sam's fingers tangle in his wet hair, pulling hard enough that he has to tilt his head back, baring Peter's neck to his ravenous mouth.

“Shit,” he hisses, his hips bucking when Sam tugs again just because he can. His teeth graze across Peter's neck as he fucks him fast and steady. He can't tell if the drops running down his body are water or sweat, but he doesn't care. All he can focus on is the way Sam's is working him open, the stretch and burn of it, and the way Sam can't seem to keep his hands from wandering.

His fingers skim up and down his erection, sliding up his abs absently to toy with his nipples until they're hard and pink, skimming down his sides in a way that almost tickles before starting over again toying with the head of his cock.

“Hold on,” he says, biting Peter's shoulder. It takes a second in his dazed state to realize that Sam meant that literally. He just barely has the presence of mind to reach out and grip tight to anything within range as Sam slams his hips against him, making him shout in pleasure.

“You okay?” he asks, stilling. His hands pet Peter's hips soothingly, but that isn't at _all_ what Peter needs right now.

“Don't fucking _stop_ ,” Peter berates him, too afraid of slipping to push himself back against Sam hard like he wants to.

Sam chuckles, slamming in hard again, and Peter almost falls anyways, his knees buckling as Sam manages to angle towards his sweet spot. Sam's hands gain focus now, holding Peter up, jerking him off fast and oh so good, smearing precome along his length to keep the friction on the right edge of rough.

“God, fuck fuck fuck,” he practically sobs, trying to keep quiet as Sam works him so hard he thinks he might start seeing stars.

Peter takes everything Sam has, his moans and shouts echoing off of the wet tiles until he shakes apart with Sam pressed against his back. He shakes and shakes and shakes, coming against his stomach while Sam whispers nonsense in his ear and fucks him through it nice and slow so that he doesn't know where his orgasm ends and the quivering aftershocks of pleasure begin.

“That's it, just like that,” Sam hisses against him, still fucking him just as deep and hard, though he's slowed his pace somewhat. “Yeah Pete, that's good.”

He bites Peter's shoulder, hips stuttering and grinding in so fucking deep and good as he loses it. Peter makes a broken sound, resting his forehead against the slick tile and just breathing through it as Sam comes inside of him.

“Holy-” Sam breathes against him, kissing the mark that his teeth have surely left on Peter's shoulder apologetically.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, his voice rough and shaking. “That was- wow.”

That gets Peter a gentle laugh as Sam pulls out, his hands acting as an anchor on Peter's hips as he coaxes him to turn around.

Sam presses messy kisses to his lips, reaching behind him to grab the soap and lather up his hands.

Peter shivers when those soapy hands skim down his body, cleaning the come from his stomach. Sam looks into his eyes, a smirk quirking his lips up as he reaches between his legs and strokes Peter's spent dick. Peter shivers and wiggles his hips, feeling oversensitive to the point where Sam's touch is almost overwhelming.

“Ngg, if you keep doing that we're never getting out of this shower,” he protests as Sam thumbs over the head of his cock. He's not sure if it's a good feeling or not, but he's still disappointed when Sam chuckles against his shoulder and pulls his hand away.

They take their time washing off, exploring each other's bodies gently as they kiss.

It's strange, Peter remembers kissing and touching Sam all over, but it's never been this unrushed and with no intent other than to touch. Usually they're working towards orgasm, but he doesn't think either of them have another one in them tonight. Not that he's complaining. It's nice to reverently skim his hands over Sam's skin and feel the warmth of Sam's hands on him in turn.

They dry off quickly, and Peter doesn't even bother to put on pajamas, just tugging on his boxers and flopping immediately down onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow with a happy sigh.

He's so blissed out and boneless that it takes a second for Peter to realize that he hasn't exactly addressed where Sam is going to sleep yet, or if he even plans on staying over. God he hopes he doesn't want to leave, because the thought of getting up to walk him to the door makes him want to cry a little. His bed is so soft and he's so thoroughly exhausted that he's not sure he could manage it, even as his Aunt May's voice berates him in his head.

Thankfully Sam takes the decision out of his hands when he plunks down in bed beside him. He scooches in closer, and Peter rolls over to give him a questioning look.

“You better not be a blanket hog Parker. I get cold easily,” Sam grumbles in answer, his eyes already heavy. He actually does look cold, a little shiver running through his frame as he wiggles to get comfy. Peter is about to pull him close under the covers when he notices the writing on his briefs.

They're black with a little alien face right in the middle and a slogan above it reading “I come in peace.”

Peter blinks, then he's laughing and Sam is looking at him in bleary eyed confusion.

“Wha-?” he says, then blinks, following Peter's eyes downwards. “Ohhh the boxers. You like em?” He tries to smirk but it comes out more like a smile on his sleepy face.

Peter grins, running his fingers along the waistband. “I do. They're very apt. Though honestly, I come in times of duress too.”

Sam groans as he tugs the blankets up over himself and Peter by default before turning to face the edge of the bed. He's close enough that it's easy for Peter to slide his arm over him, more to keep him warm than anything, but he's gratified when Sam just shimmies backwards a little until he's pressed against Peter's body.

“Shut up Parker. Go to sleep.”

It's kind of strange how perfectly they fit together like this. Not for the first time Peter feels like maybe this was meant to be. Maybe him and Sam-

He shakes his head, pulling Sam in closer when he makes a soft little sighing sound.

Maybe this is crossing some line. It certainly feels like the lines between relationship and fuck-buddy have been slipping lately, and Peter doesn't know how to feel about it. Sam doesn't want more than his friendship and his body, and Peter is desperately trying to be okay with it but-

“Go to sleep. God I think I can actually hear you thinking. Do you ever shut that big brain off?” Sam interrupts his musings, kicking him gently.

“Only in the shower,” Peter shoots back, pleased when that gets him a tired laugh.

Sam shifts in his arms, and for a second Peter is scared he wants to leave, or at least to escape the snuggles, but instead he ends up face to face with a very sleepy and very adorable Sam Alexander who leans up and his lips to Peter's, soft and sweet.

“Goodnight Parker,” he says, breath warm against Peter's lips.

Peter blinks, but Sam is already turning back over and wiggling back into the comfort of Peter's arms.

“Goodnight,” he whispers back, burying his face in Sam's clean and slightly damp hair. He smells like his shampoo and like Sam, and Peter drifts off to sleep soothed by the comfort of their warm bodies pressed together.


	8. Street Meat n' Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings? What feelings? There are no feelings cooking here... no siree.

Sam breathes in deep, the scent of garlic filling his nose. He closes his eyes and relishes in the warmth radiating off of the stovetop for a moment, remembering the days when he’d first moved to New York and how that warmth had filled him up. Reminded him of Arizona and his family and everything he’d left behind to seek adventure during what turned out to be the most frigid fucking winter in New York history.

Even later on, when the weather had warmed, cooking had felt like a connection to home. And it hadn’t hurt his ability to make new friends either.

The sound of the stove fan almost completely drowns out the sound of his front door opening but the sound of Peter’s voice, however, is much harder to ignore.

“Hello? Honey I’m hoooome. Well… I’m in _your_ home,” Peter calls out from the vicinity of the front hall. “That’s practically the same thing right Sparky?” Sam rushes to turn his burner down, then quickly grabs a spoon, dipping it into the sauce he has simmering and practically sprinting to the front hall.

He finds Peter having just taken on his shoes, jacket still on and face still rosy red from the cold weather outside.

“Taste this,” Sam demands in lieu of hello, holding the spoon full of sauce out towards Peter’s lips.

“Uh, hello to you too?” Peter says instead of tasting, so Sam jabs the spoon a little more forcefully at his mouth.

With a sigh Peter rolls his eyes and lets Sam spoon feed him, closing his eyes to savor the taste as he takes a bit of sauce off of the tip of the spoon. He makes a soft pleased little sound as he swallows and Sam feels a glow of pride beneath the itch to get back to the kitchen.

“Well?” he asks, realizing he must sound a tad frantic. Of course that means Peter takes his time, making considering expressions and humming thoughtfully. Sam shifts from foot to foot. “Ugh c’mon Webs! What do you think?”

“It’s good,” he says slowly after a moment. “Could use some salt though.”

Sam frowns, popping what’s left of the sauce into his mouth.

“No… needs something, but it’s definitely not salt,” Sam mutters, turning back around and racing towards the kitchen again.

“Uh? Should I just go then?” Peter calls after him as he disappears around the corner. “I can go!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam calls back as he turns the burner back up before yanking his spice cabinet open. “Come in. I need you to taste test!”

He snickers a little at the insulted sounds Peter makes as he enters the kitchen, even as he grabs a few spice containers and shakes the perfect amounts into his sauce. He can’t remember if Peter has ever been around during one of his frantic cooking days, but if not he’s sure to get the full experience today.

“So I brought you food,” Peter says after a moment, his hip pressed against Sam’s kitchen counter as he watches him cook.

“Mmm,” Sam hums absently. He’s almost got this down, he just needs one more ingredient, something to add just a little bit of- “Wait, you what?” Sam looks over to see Peter waving a brown paper bag at him cheerfully. “How long have you been holding that?”

“Since I walked through the door?”

Sam blinks. “Huh.”

Then he turns back to his pan of sizzling vegetables, for now ignoring the problem with the sauce.

Peter chuckles, walking over to peer over Sam’s shoulder at the stove. “That smells delicious. But when’s the last time _you_ ate something Chef Sam?” he asks, pausing to chew when Sam holds out a fork full of veggies to him silently.

“Uh. Earlier?” Sam says, watching Peter’s face as he eats. The dumb dork gets this blissful look every time Sam feeds him something, and as stupid as it is it makes Sam feel just as warm inside as cooking does.

Peter doesn’t disappoint, closing his eyes and smiling a dreamy half smile at the flavors in his mouth.

“Okay, how about you finish making whatever that is, and then I’ll eat that while you eat the street meat I brought you.”

“Street meat?” Sam says incredulously. “Street meat?! What the fuck Parker, why did you bring that trash into my house?”

“Oh, right of course, how dare I tarnish the sanctity of this food shrine,” Peter snorts. “I guess I’ll just throw this out then.”

Sam snatches the bag from Peter’s hands before he can even take a step towards the garbage. “No need to waste it, even if it _is_ barely edible,” he says, digging in to pull out a greasy sandwich piled high with meat. It smells delicious and awful and Sam wants twelve of them in his mouth pronto.

“Yeah okay,” Peter drawls laughing a little. “Pretend like you’re the Picasso of food and don’t like street meat anymore. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Sam glares at him and settles for giving him the finger, his mouth too full of food truck-y goodness to swear at him.

 “Don’t forget my food,” Peter says, still smirking. Sam rolls his eyes, more amused than anything that Peter has already claimed it as his.

“As if I’d let it burn,” Sam snorts between mouthfuls of meat, adding his pre-cooked homemade pasta to the sauce along with the veggies. Peter wiggles like an impatient dog as Sam insists on adding the finishing touches and plating it the way he wants to for the restaurant, half just to make him wait but mostly out of a sense of professional perfectionism.

By the time he’s done he’s finished the food Peter brought him, so he steals the sandwich Peter had bought for himself, stuffing a huge bite of it in his mouth as he slides the fancier dish over to Peter instead.

“So uh… I actually came over for a reason,” Peter starts awkwardly, and Sam raises an eyebrow at him.

“Really? I mean I know I’m irresistible but you couldn’t wait until Tuesday?” They’ve had a hookup planned for a while now, but they don’t always stick strictly to the schedule, and Sam would be lying I he said he didn’t love the unexpected sex even more than the prearranged kind. He’d been planning on cooking all day, but maybe he could take an hour or two off…

“What?! No! Well I mean, if you wanted to I wouldn’t say no but… I actually kinda have to cancel Tuesday,” Peter says ruefully. “I have to go out of town for a shoot.”

Sam narrows his eyes.

“I’ll be back Saturday!” Peter trips over himself to add. His eyes are wide and he’s trying so hard to appease that it’s almost ridiculous. “But… then I have to shoot for that Stark Tech gala I told you about. Maybe after?” Peter says hopefully.

“If you’re lucky,” Sam says, biting into his second sandwich to hide a smile. No need for the nerd to _know_ how proud Sam is of him. Or how adorable he is when he’s nervous like this.

“Cool,” Peter says, a wide smile on his lips. “And uh… I’ll have my phone. So y’know…”

“I know…?” Sam queries, eyebrows raised and a knowing little smirk betraying him.

“Yeah. You know. We can talk. If you want. And uh… and stuff,” Peter says, blushing lightly as he shovels another bite of pasta into his mouth.

“And stuff,” Sam confirms, laughing. “You’re such a fucking dork, you know that right?”

“Shu uuh,” Peter mutters around the food in his mouth. Sam only realizes how close they’re standing now when Peter nudges him with his hip as emphasis.

“Hey, you free today?” Sam asks after a moment of amicable silence.

“Why? You got _stuff_ you wanna do with me?” Peter asks coyly, making Sam snort loudly.

“Okay Parker keep it in your pants for two minutes. Today is cooking day,” he says, patting Peter’s head.

Peter crinkles his nose up, confused.

“Uh… okay? You want me to watch you cook?”

“I want you to _help_ me cook, dumbass. I’m going to teach you how to make something other than instant ramen,” Sam tells him, grinning brightly.

“The last time I made instant ramen I burned it,” Peter mumbles.

The kitchen fills with silence, so thick Sam could cut it up and serve it like steak.

“Oh my god,” Sam says after a moment, shaking his head. “I was gonna ask but I don’t even want to know. Wash your hands asshole, it’s going to be a long ass day.”

Peter grins brightly and skips over to the sink, washing his hands with warm water and flicking the drops on his hands at Sam once he’s done.

“Alright, you’re gonna help me make Huevos Rancheros, because they’re delicious and even you can’t fuck that up,” Sam says a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth as he gathers up ingredients.

“You underestimate me,” Peter chirps, his eyes tracking Sam’s movements in a way that makes him feel like cooking with Peter is going to be _very_ distracting. He feels his face heat a little at the thought, but sets his mind to cooking. Not even Parker is going to ruin his flow.

“How can you go wrong with me teaching you?” he scoffs, and Peter gives him a disbelieving look, but dutifully moves so that he can inspect the spread on the counter.

“I’m seeing a lot of veggies here and no salsa,” Peter says thoughtfully. “You got a jar of it hidden somewhere on you?”

Sam snorts. “Jar? What am I, an animal? We’re making salsa. I have some premade in the fridge that we’ll use but if you’re learning to make this, you’re learning all the steps Parker. No backing out now.”

“Aww man, you’re making me do _work_? Worst. Hookup. Ever,’ he whines, nuzzling his face against Sam’s neck. It sends pleasant tingles down his spine and makes him grin as he reaches over to grab his cutting board.

“Shut up and get to chopping kitchen bitch.”

Sam smiles as he watches his bo- his friend work. He cuts like the hot mess that he is, all jagged slices, and Sam loses track of the number of times he has to warn him not to slice his stupid fingers off. In the end he somehow manages to get tomato all over himself, especially on his face and in his hair. Sam hates how cute it is.

“Okay, maybe I was wrong about you being able to handle this. We should have started with PB and J,” he sighs as Peter somehow manages to fling salsa halfway across the kitchen as he stirs the ingredients together. The next glob of salsa hits him squarely in the face, making him jump.

“Oh really fucking funny,” he grumbles as Peter cackles gleefully. Sam slides a finger through the mess on his cheek with an exasperated smile and pops it into his mouth thoughtfully. “Actually this isn’t half bad. Here taste,” he says, lunging for the bowl and smearing a fistful of it on Peter’s face before he can escape.

Peter yelps, then licks his lips, nodding. “Mmm that’s good. Man soon I won’t even need you to cook for me,” he says. Sam huffs, then dives away laughing as Peter chases him around the kitchen, trying to rub his sticky face against Sam’s shirt.

“Fuck off Parker! Oh my god no, Pete stop!” he giggles as Peter finally corners him and rubs his face against Sam’s like a dog. “I hate you.”

Peter grins at him, and leans in for a kiss. Sam allows it, kissing back and tasting salsa on Peter’s lips.

Peter makes a soft pleased sound, his hand moving up to cup the side of Sam’s head, fingers tangled up in his hair. They break apart, but before Peter can speak Sam is moving back in, kissing him again. They go on like that long enough that Sam starts to feel a little weak in the knees.

This isn’t kissing with any sort of intent, and that’s a little bit frightening. This is just the kind of kissing that could go on for a while, slow and sweet and soft.

“So… now that the salsa is done, what’s next?” Peter asks when he pulls back. The look on his face is so tender and starry eyed that Sam has to tear his eyes away for a second. He hopes he doesn’t look that stupid too.

“Now we put your salsa in the fridge and get out my far superior stuff for cooking,” Sam replies easily, like Peter hasn’t just shaken up his entire world with a kiss or two.

“Rude! All my hard work for nothing?”

“It needs to sit for a while so the flavours blend dumbass.”

Peter frowns, and Sam realizes suddenly that he’s actually really into this. Somehow he hadn’t expected Peter to really like cooking, he’d figured he was just humouring him. “Maybe you can come over once you’re back and we can suffer through your salsa and chips,” he comforts him, and it’s worth it for the happy grin he gets in response.

“Hey! Wait!” Peter says as Sam turns around to go retrieve his own salsa. “What do you mean suffer?!”

The Huevos Rancheros turn out pretty good despite the fact that Peter is the one to have made them, and they end up sitting on the couch watching tv and having breakfast for early dinner… lunbrinner as Peter calls it.

God he’s so stupid.

“You’re gonna make me fat,” Peter complains as he puts his arm around Sam, letting him rest his head on his chest.

“Mmm. Maybe you’ll be more comfy then,” Sam says, nuzzling his head against the surprisingly well muscled surface of Peter’s chest.

It’s late by the time Peter gets up to leave, but Sam still finds himself wishing he could stay longer.

“Hey,” Peter says, his eyes quickly flickering over Sam’s face. “I’ll see you Saturday night?”

Peter’s face is hard to read. There’s something about the look he’s giving him that’s soft, almost too intense. Yet there’s also something like nervousness, or maybe even fear flickering just under the surface, making itself known in the thinning of his lips, the way his eyes shift ever so slightly away before returning to stare into Sam’s again.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’ll come over when you’re done your fancy gig.”

Peter leans in then, bypassing his mouth to press a feather light kiss to his cheek. It’s just a soft press of lips against skin, almost as light as the hand that brushes gently against his side before Peter pulls back, yet it has Sam blushing and looking down like some sort of schoolgirl.

“I’ll call you,” Peter says, smiling brightly as he heads for the door.

Sam can’t do anything but nod, and stare at the door, wondering when the hell Peter Parker had gotten his hooks into him this deep.


	9. Phone Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know... things... on the phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll be at Toronto Comic Con tomorrow and all weekend, which means you get an early chapter posting!! Hope you all enjoy <3 If anyone is gonna be at the con let me know! Maybe I'll see you there!

“So since I'm not there do you wanna do... uh phone... things?”

Twenty-five minutes.

That’s how long it had taken Peter from the time Sam answered the phone to get to this request.

Peter has been away for the entire week, and though Sam doesn’t want to admit anything mushy, he does have to admit that seeing Peter’s name on his caller display had made him far happier than it probably should have.

They’d both known why he was calling, but then catching up had taken longer than he’d thought, and the nervous way Peter had been dancing around the subject had almost led Sam to believe it wasn’t going to happen.

“Ugh it’s so sad that I know exactly what you mean. And it's even sadder is that I'm probably going to say yes,” he sighs in answer. Peter is pretty much the stupidest person he knows, and this is probably going to be a disaster based on how it's starting... but Sam can't help but want it anyways. Even just hearing Peter’s voice after a few days without it is nice.

Peter chuckles down the phone, warm and pleased and a tiny bit nervous. “Oh wow, do I have to twist your arm?”

“Shut up.”

“Aww, I thought the whole point was to talk though? You seemed all excited a second ago. All “Oh yes Pete, I may not appreciate the finer delicacies of your phone sex requests but I do want you to take me now.” Or don't you remember?”

Sam groans, covering his face with his free hand. “Stop that or I’m hanging up.”

“Fine fine... it's boring doing this on my own” Peter says, sounding nervous as hell now. Sam smiles into the receiver, staying silent. He wonders if Peter will be brave enough to start this. “Uh Sam? You didn't actually hang up did you?” he asks after a moment, actually sounding worried. God he's precious. And dumb as a brick wall, despite all his smarts.

“Nope. Just waiting. You said something about phone sex right? Or did phone things mean something else?”

Peter sighs, and Sam can pretty much perfectly imagine the expression on his face at the teasing. He's been spending _way_ too much time with Peter lately.

“No we're doing this,” he says, then trails off into another nervous silence.

Sam is just about to take pity on him when Peter speaks again” So... what are you wearing?” he asks hesitantly.

Sam barks out a laugh, unable to stop himself.

“Really Parker? That's how you're gonna start phone sex? What are you wearing?”

“What's wrong with that?” Peter huffs. “It's a classic.”

“Yeah in cheesy tv shows maybe. Is this the part where I tell you I'm in nothing but a black bra and panties?” Sam says, rolling his eyes. He looks down at where his fingers are idly playing with the hem his faded blue boxers and huffs out a laugh. He's pretty sure they aren't exactly the sexy picture Peter wants him to paint for him. Then again... he does have Peter's shirt in the closet...

“Are you really?” Peter asks as Sam rolls off of the bed and makes his way over to the closet. His voice sounds a little bit hopeful, though Sam can't really tell if it's for comedic effect or if Peter is actually kinkier than he originally thought.

“Yeah sure. It's all lacy and stuff,” Sam laughs, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggles to slip Peter's shirt on over his head. He hears Peter's answering laughter even when he almost drops the phone, only barely managing to catch it before it hits the floor. Peter's shirt is a little bit too big, but very soft which is the reason Sam had stolen it in the first place. It still smells like him a little bit, and Sam can't help but run a hand down the soft fabric covering his chest, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes.

He wishes Peter was here, and not even just because he's a little bit horny. Mostly he just wants to feel his arms wrapping around him, to see his fondly amused expression as he takes in the sight of Sam wearing his clothes. He wants to press his face against Peter's chest and just _be_ with him. And maybe that thought should scare him, but with Peter's laughter warm in his ear he finds it hard to care.

“You're a dork,” Sam tells him as he shimmies out of his boxers before returning to his comfy spot on the bed and leaning back against the pillows propped against his headboard. “Do you really want to know what I'm wearing?”

He can almost hear Peter shrugging through the phone. “Sure why not. Oh man _please_ tell me it's space pajamas. Don't even lie, I've totally seen the pants with the little spaceships, I _know_ you own them.”

Sam huffs indignantly. Parker is the biggest moodkiller of all time.

“No,” he sighs, although he's making a mental note to wear them the next time he and Peter are about to get busy as payback. “And whatever Webs, they aren't as bad as your rainbow ones.”

“Those were a gift!”

“Uh huh. Do you wanna do this phone sex thing or not?” Sam says, trying to keep the hint amusement out of his voice. Peter is beyond frustrating, but the sound of laughter in his voice makes Sam weak.

“Okay okay. Serious sexy times,” he says clearing his throat. “So, what are you wearing?”

Sam resists the urge to groan, and not in a sexy way. Fucking Parker, can't take anything seriously, not even this.

“Your shirt and nothing else,” he says, pitching his voice low. That got him a good reaction if the silence on the other end of the phone is any indication. “Pete?” he asks, a smirk clear in his voice.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Peter says, his own voice rasping out just a hint deeper than a minute ago.

“Good,” Sam replies sounding breathy already. Fuck if Parker's voice doesn't turn him on more than he'll ever admit. “Wanna know why I like this shirt?” he asks casually, running his fingers up and down along the length of his thigh, drawing it out. He doesn't want to get off too quickly, preferring to tease himself since Peter isn't there to do it for him.

Peter makes a noise, soft and inquisitive and sort of breathless, and Sam figures that's the most coherent answer he's going to get out of him at the moment. “It's so fucking soft against my cock, god it feels good,” Sam says with the slightest hitch of breath as his fingers skim over the hem on the shirt against his cock. “It's not your hand, but I'll have to settle for it for now.”

“Fuck,” Peter whispers, so low Sam almost misses it. He grins, thumbing at his head through the soft fabric and shivering a little. He must be doing well if he's got Peter swearing already.

“Yeah Parker, that's the general idea.”

Peter laughs, and the low rumble of it in his ear makes Sam feel warm and tingly good all over. He'd much rather have Peter here, leaning over him with his breath warm in his ear, but this is still kinda fun. Peter may be sort of hopeless at it, but he can't deny that despite the frustration he's enjoying teasing him and at least one of them is turning the other on.

“I... God, Sam, I want you. But... what do you want me to say? I want to get you off so much,” Peter says earnestly. Just that makes Sam's cock twitch a little.

“Just tell me what you wanna do to me,” he coaxes, tracing a thumb around the head of his cock slowly.

“That doesn't help at all,” Peter whines. “I want to do so _many_ things to you. You have no idea.”

Sam laughs, low and breathless. “C'mon then, give me an example.”

“I... I want to go down on you. Suck you until you're moaning and bucking your hips up into my mouth,” he says quietly, like he's nervous the words will send Sam running. Sam closes his eyes and imagines it, looking down at Peter, lips stretched around his cock. He’d make those little sounds deep in his throat as he sucked, just like he always does, the ones that make Sam’s stomach flutter. He imagines him pulling off, sucking at the head, licking, putting on a show, just for him.

“Mmm, yeah, that sounds good,” he says approvingly. “You'd look good between my legs.”

Peter makes a pleased little sound, then something he does makes him moan softly. The sound thrums through Sam, going straight to his cock.

“You want me pretty bad right now huh?” Sam asks, cocky. He knows he's getting Peter off on his voice alone, he can hear it in the breathless pitch of his replies.

“No, I'm having phone sex with you because I find you repulsive,” Peter huffs, and if Sam listens he's pretty sure he can hear the slick measured sounds of Peter touching himself in the background.

Sam slides one hand up under the soft shirt, thumbing at his nipple and hissing at the contact. “Do you? I could hang up...”

“Now hold on, let's not be hasty here...” Peter practically giggles, the cutest little sound Sam has ever heard. Who the fuck does this asshole think he is being that adorable during phone sex?

“Are you naked?” Sam asks, getting them back on task. Then when Peter makes an affirmative sound “How hard are you for me?”

“Very,” Peter breathes, “I keep wishing you were here,” he moans, and Sam imagines those heavy breaths he's taking hot against his neck, against his cock, the small of his back.

“I need your mouth on me,” he manages to get out, slicking precome down his length and shuddering at the feeling. The hem of Peter's shirt tickles at the outsides of his thighs, the closest thing he can get to Peter touching him at the moment.

“Me too. I need to touch you. And god, to just... be inside you Sam.”

Sam grins, hands trailing down over his balls to tease at his entrance. He doesn't push inside yet, just teasing himself while he listens to Peter's breathy words. But the lube is on the bed...

“Fuck Sam, it's so good, you have no idea. You're so tight and warm and you make the prettiest noises when I have my cock in you,” he breathes, and Sam thinks he might combust.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Who knew that nerdy Peter Parker could talk like _that._

And who knew it'd turn Sam on this much?

Because it's kind of the fact that it's _his_ gorgeous precious dork saying such filthy things that gets him hotter than anything. In fact, he's so turned on that he doesn't even have to energy to internally berate himself for mentally referring to Peter as his. He's too busy desperately tugging at his cock, making breathy noises into the phone to encourage Peter's dirty mouth to keep whispering sinful things to him.

Sam scrambles to grab the lube, slicking his fingers and pressing one inside. “I'm... fuck Pete, I'm fucking myself on my fingers,” he admits, blushing deeply. “I wish it was you. Tell me more about what you want to do, please,” he begs, curling his finger inside of himself.

“Fuck that's hot. God Sam I want to pin you to the bed, suck you off until you come, and keep going until you're an absolute mess,” Peter says through a moan, like he's doing it right now, just wrecking Sam and watching him come apart. “Then once you're boneless for me, I want to fuck you into the mattress. Make you scream my name, and beg for me.”

Sam groans and puts the phone on speaker before curling his free hand tightly back around his cock. He jerks himself hard, shuddering at the feeling of it and the sounds of Peter doing the same thing on the other end of the line. “Fuck I'm not going to be able to wait the next time I see you. I'm going to pin you to the door and rip your clothes off before you can say hi,” he groans, teasing another finger into his tight hole with a loud whine.

“Shit. You really are fucking yourself aren't you,” Peter breathes in awe. “How many fingers?”

“Two,” Sam says, his voice shaking as he presses them against his prostate, rocking them there and making little aborted sounds of pleasure.

“Add another one for me,” Peter practically growls, all hints of nervousness gone now. Sam complies, panting as he stretches himself open for Peter's pleasure, imagining the way Peter would watch him fucking himself.

“I bet you'd love to watch me do this wouldn't you?” he says, vocalizing his thoughts and getting a breathy moan of agreement. “I bet it'd get you so fucking hard. You'd jerk yourself off just watching me finger myself, getting ready for your cock.”

Peter swears lowly, and there's a sound like a bed creaking, which fuck... Peter must really be going at it. Just imagining himself rocking into his own hand, pretending he's fucking Sam is enough to make him speed up his thrusts.

“Sam... I'm close,” he groans. Sam looks down at his hand around his cock, trying to pretend it's Peter's instead. God he's close too... but he wants to get Peter off first.

“Mnn Pete, fuck. You want to hear me come? I wish I could come with your fingers in me, or with your cock deep inside my ass,” he's panting, not even sure what he's saying anymore. All he knows is he wants Peter to feel just as good as he does right now, and he's not going to last much longer.

Peter moans louder than before as his orgasm hits him, and Sam comes a second later, curling his fingers and stroking himself through it as Peter sighs his name like a prayer.

“Mmm s’good,” Sam mumbles, closing his eyes and relishing in the post orgasmic haze of pleasure.

“Glowing praise, thank you Sam,” Peter laughs, though he sounds just as wrecked.

They sit silently for a while, just listening to each other breathe, and weirdly it isn’t that awkward. Still, he’s feeling pretty tired now, and from the sounds of it Peter is probably halfway asleep anyways.

He’s just about to suggest they hand up and call it a night when he suddenly remembers something.

“Hey, you’ll still be back in time to photograph that gala thing right?”

“Yeah, why?” Peter sounds distant and sleepy now that they’re done, and Sam feels an odd rush of affection at that. What a stupid adorable loser.

“Oh I don’t know, just thought maybe I’d see you there,” Sam says casually, then frowns when Peter just makes a sleepy noise of agreement.

It takes another second of pointed silence before Peter makes a confused grumble and says “Wait… why are _you_ going to Tony Stark’s gala?”

“Oh what, like I’m not good enough to get an invite?”

“You aren’t _rich_ or _famous_ enough to get an invite,” Peter corrects him. “Ninety-nine percent of the entire _population_ isn’t rich or famous enough to get an invite.”

 “You’re going,” Sam reminds him with a snort. “You aren’t even close to rich, and you _definitely_ aren’t famous.”

Peter blows a raspberry at him over the phone. “I’m working there,” he says.

“Yeah Parker. So am I. Turns out Stark heard about The Milano from someone and came down to check it out.”

“Oh my god,” Peter says in awe, which is pretty similar to what Sam had said when he found out he was serving Tony Stark, only Sam’s version had involved a lot more colourful language. “What happened?”

Sam smirks. “My food rocked his world, duh. He asked to meet the chef and offered me the catering job.”

“That’s amazing!” Peter says, his real enthusiasm making Sam feel warm inside.

“Yeah it’s pretty cool I guess. Gotta figure out what to serve though. He’s asking for crazy amounts of food in a really short amount of time.”

“You’ll get it done,” Peter says confidently. Then, “Tiramisu.”

“What?” Sam blinks. Peter sounds so tired that Sam half thinks he’s talking in his sleep.

“You should serve tiramisu.”

Sam makes a face. “Why? We don’t even serve tiramisu at Milano.”

“Yeah,” Peter rumbles, agreeing and sounding a little bit defeated. “But you made that one the other day and it’s all I’ve been able to think about since then. It was… yeah.”

“Heh, yeah you did eat the whole thing. That was supposed to feed like three people. I swear you must be radioactive or something Parker, you should weigh five hundred pounds with how you eat.”

Peter laughs, warm and happy. “Yeah well stop making delicious food and maybe I’ll stop eating so much.”

Sam hums, suddenly out of things to say. He wishes again that Peter was here. That they could just lay together, fall asleep in the same bed.

“I’d better go,” Peter chuckles as Sam yawns into the phone. “See you at the gala?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, already looking forward to it. “See you there.”


	10. You are Cordially Invited to a Gala Most Fine Held by Mr Bad Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gala, a jealous fit, a sad pastry and a dance.

The light of ten fine crystal chandeliers and thousands of candles gleams brilliantly off of the gold and silver trappings of the wide golden room. Even the jewelry of the women wearing long dresses and beautifully painted smiles glitters, luminescent, as they stroll around the room arm in arm with each other and with the handsome men who are also in attendance.

The sight is almost ethereal, all these beautiful people bathed in soft gold, haloed in lights designed to catch the eye and hold it in fascination at their finery. There are white linen table coverings etched with gold at the seams, and the clink of champagne glasses fills the ballroom with tinkling fairy music as the guests mill about. Deep red velvet curtains frame the many balconies throughout the room; dark blood coloured dresses that invite the eye to the upper levels. Here yet more elegantly dressed upper crust are gathered, their visages seem right at home along with the images splendidly painted on ceilings that soar high above them.

There’s also a champagne fountain where the glittering liquid is flowing in cascades out of a truly beautiful rendering of a motor oil jug, a dance floor with build in LED disco lights and most baffilingly, a bouncy castle in the far corner of the room.

When Tony Start throws a party, he _really_ throws a party.

Then again Sam wouldn’t have thought otherwise.

He’s setting out various hors devours, which normally would give him a great opportunity to check out all the rich and fabulous guests walking around, maybe find someone attractive and ask them for a dance after he’s done with making dinner.

There’s only one little hiccup in that plan.

In a sea of pretty people, somehow he only has eyes for dorky Parker.

He looks cute and rumpled in his slightly too big suit and crooked bowtie, though it’s definitely a step up from his normal wardrobe. Sam wants to go over there and straighten out his jacket, smooth down the wrinkles in his shirt. He wants to take the camera away from him, replace it with his hand in Peter's own.

Mostly he wants to grab him by the tie and drag him away from Tony _fucking_ Stark.

The bastard has been monopolizing Peter’s time for the last half an hour or so, laying on the charm so thick Sam's surprised Peter's legs haven't given out from the sheer weight of those lustful looks Tony keeps shooting his way. He looks at Peter like he's on the menu. Like he can't wait to eat him up like one of the sinfully delicious pastries Sam has hand prepared for this fucking fancy-ass hookup scene masquerading as a party.

“He's like twice your age Parker, why are you even giving him the time of day,” he mutters under his breath, smashing a pastry puff down so hard on the platter that it oozes cheese all over his fingers. He tosses the poor pathetic thing in the garbage without tearing his eyes away from where Tony is laughing, all shiny white teeth and indulgent amusement. He doesn't even notice when the abused pastry misses the garbage, rolling out onto the floor only to be crushed once more under a cruel glittery stiletto.

The worst part is Peter doesn't seem to notice that Stark is practically undressing him with his eyes. He just keeps chattering away excitedly, moving his hands so animatedly along with his words that Sam has been keeping his fingers crossed he'll punch Stark in the face by accident.

Peter's eyes are too-bright and excited, his face ever so slightly flushed and his hair just on the cusp of getting messy from how many times he's run his hands through it. He looks adorably rumpled, like a giant nerd who can barely dress himself. Or maybe like someone who’s just been making out ferociously in a dark hallway, with hands up under his suit.

 It's no wonder Stark has zoned in on him like a vulture on a rotting carcass.

Tony puts his hand on Peter's shoulder and Sam _seethes,_ two seconds away from marching over there and-

“Why don't you take a break Alexander,” his sous chef Rocket grunts. He's a gruff little guy, shorter than Sam even, but way _way_ tougher. Sam's pretty sure he's been to prison a few times from his stories.

“What? No, I've still gotta start cooking the main course,” he protests, even as Rocket's strong little hands clamp around his arm and march him in the opposite direction of the kitchen.

“You're distracted kid. If I let you in there you're gonna burn the fuck outta the fancy fucking fillet mignon and then the richies will riot. Go talk to the pretty brunette you've been eyeing all night and take it easy. Groot an' I got it covered.”

Sam looks between the kitchen and Peter, torn. He really shouldn't, after all this event is the biggest thing they've ever done. It could really put them on the map, make their restaurant a popular place among a few members of high society, and as head chef he has an obligation to-

Tony's hand slides from Peter's shoulder down his arm as he leans in, whispering something conspiratorially.

Oh.

Oh _hell_ no.

Fuck this.

Groot and Rocket have worked alone in the kitchen before, and he still has at least twenty minutes before they start cooking the fillet mignon anyways. Plus he only needs twelve or so minutes of cook time...

“I'll be right back. Don't put it in the oven before I get there, and make sure Groot doesn't touch the asparagus. Guys weird about veggies, I'll just do them,” he says, already moving towards Peter before he's done speaking.

“What an idiot,” Rocket grumbles under his breath, turning back towards the kitchen. If he slips on some cheese on the floor and cusses so loudly that it shocks some of the guests Sam doesn't notice it, too intent on freeing Peter from the clutches of a creepy bajillionaire.

“Hey, shortstack! The food is fantastic by the way. You enjoying the party? Have some more champagne, loosen up,” Tony says in quick succession by way of greeting. “You like the fountain? I wanted a little statue of me taking a piss but Pep put the kibosh on it. Said it wasn’t tasteful?” he adds, like that’s the strangest thing in the world. 

“She caved on the bouncy castle though,” he adds fondly.

“Uh… I’m good thanks,” Sam replies, not exactly surprised that Stark would encourage the person in charge of cooking to get smashed. “Fun party though. It’s uh… not exactly what I was expecting.”

“Things rarely are,” Tony says sagely, taking another sip of champagne.

“Hey,” Pete says, beaming at Sam with bright happy eyes. “What’s cooking?”

“Oh haha, really original. How’s the photography going?” he says accusingly. From the amount of time he’s spent talking to Tony Sam isn’t sure he even remembers he’s here to work.

Peter blinks, looking down at his camera as though he’d just noticed it hanging around his neck. Oh uh…good good. It’s been going good. Lot’s to take pictures of here, it’s an amazing party,” Peter says, looking back to Tony with a charming smile.

Sam clenches his fists at his sides.

“Oh hey, shutterbug, you know the cook?” Tony asks, glancing between them.

“Yeah, we know each other,” Sam answers, trying to sound as polite as he can even as he steps in closer to Peter. Tony's eyebrows ascend almost into his stylish hairline at that, and then he's smirking like he's just been let in on the biggest trade secret of the century.

“Do you now? It's a small world isn’t it? But hey, it's a big gala and I should get to schmoozing some more. Thinking I might be able to convince the princess of Whatzitcalled to take a bounce in that castle with me,” he says slyly. Then he’s turning back to Peter, clasping his arm for a moment. “Think about my offer eh kid? And you two crazy kids enjoy the party. Play now, work later as I always say,” Tony adds with a wink, and then he's gone, thankfully before Sam can do something stupid like deck him in the face.

“Thanks Mr. Sta- Tony! I really appreciate it!” Peter calls after his retreating back, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. “Oh my _god_ I can't believe that just happened!”

“Offer? What'd he _offer_ you?” Sam growls, standing closer to Peter than is probably strictly necessary. If Peter notices he obviously doesn't mind though, even going as far as to throw his arm around Sam's shoulder and squeeze.

“He said I could come check out his labs. As a scientist, not a photographer! He listened to my ideas on synthetic 'webbing', You know the sheer-thinning liquid I told you about?” Sam furrows his brow, vaguely recalling Pete spewing some sciency crap about spiders and liquids that turn into solids or some shit while his fingers carded through Sam's hair. Mostly he remembers that they'd just fucked on the solid old coffee table in Peter's living room, and that Peter's voice had lulled him to sleep, head slumped on Peter's chest on the soft carpeting of Peter’s floor.

“Right yeah,” Sam says, still frowning a little. Was Stark the kind of guy who'd invite someone to his lab under the guise of a tour to seduce them?

Probably.

Sam wouldn't put it past him.

“He told me he was _impressed_ can you believe that? Tony Stark, impressed by me! And he made some amazing suggestions, oh my god Sam I gotta work on this as soon as I get home!” Peter is barely breathing between words, babbling on and on as he runs his fingers through his hair. He looks a bit dazed, and Sam feels a warm rush of affection despite his annoyance. There's something really beautiful about Peter's face when his dreams are coming true.

“He says there could be an opportunity for me to work at his company if I want! He called me a 'bright mind!' Seriously pinch me this is so amazing, I can't believe this is actually happening right now!”

Sam shrugs, grinning a little as he pinches his arm. Hard.

“Ow! Hey!” Peter frowns, snatching his hand back from around Sam's neck and rubbing at the spot he'd just abused.

“You asked for it dude,” Sam says, before taking pity. He rolls his eyes as he grabs Peter's arm, pressing a quick kiss to the spot he'd just pinched, before looking up into Peter's eyes. “I’m proud of you Parker, that's awesome news. You totally deserve it.”

Peter grins at him, his expression going soft, which makes Sam feel uncomfortable and itchy in a completely different way than from watching Tony Stark flirt with him. He looks away, channeling the feeling into a pout so that he won't give away any weird mushy feelings he might be having.

“Yeah? So why do you look like you just sucked on a lemon then?” Peter asks, and at least he sounds amused rather than pissed or weirded out.

Sam shrugs. “I don't know, I mean you're super smart and I guess you'd fit in with all the other poindexters there. Hell you'd probably be better than most of them, but that doesn't change the fact that Stark wanted into your pants so bad he practically called his tailor down to widen the seams so he could fit in there with you.”

If he was less annoyed he would be finding Peter's indignant splutters and his bright red face hilarious, but as funny as it is Sam can't get the image of Tony fucking Stark putting his hands all over Peter out of his head.

“He wasn't flirting! He was offering me a job Sam!” Peter protests, lowering his voice when a woman looks their way curiously. “That's all it was.”

“Uh huh. Dude he was being completely shameless,” Sam snorts, shaking his head at how dense his- friend is. “He looked like he was three seconds away from bending you over the food table and going at it like an animal.”

“No way. He's straight anyways!” Peter says.

Sam gives him a _look._

“He's not. He's really not,” he tells him, and Peter doesn't argue. After all, Sam has proven time and time again that his gaydar is far superior.

“Okay but… Tony's just like that with everyone,” he squeaks instead, blushing up to the tips of his ears. Sam finds it a lot less cute when that blush isn't for him. “Look,” Peter nods over to the refreshment table where Stark is leaning over to take some more punch (the spiked one Sam notes.)

Peter leans in close, lowing his voice, and Sam can't help but shiver as his breath ghosts over the shell of his ear.

“Oh baby, I've been trying to get you alone all night. Look at you in that slinky plastic cup, you're practically glistening. And can I just say, ruby red is _so_ your colour you ravishing creature,” Peter drawls in what Sam guesses is meant to be his best Tony Stark voice.

Sam bites his lip, trying not to laugh as they watch him stare thoughtfully into his glass. “Now that we're alone... god I want to get my lips on you,” Peter continues, and then Sam can't hold it back any longer, laughing bright and loud as Tony raises the glass to his lips, accompanied by the most revolting kissing sounds he's ever heard, courtesy of Peter.

“Dude stop,” he wheezes, earning a downright scandalized look from one of the older stately looking gentlemen there. His wife is laughing though, so Sam figures he's not gonna be forcibly removed from the place, especially since he's providing the food.

“See, he literally flirts with his food,” Peter chuckles in answer, thankfully no longer making sounds akin to someone deepthroating a banana.

Sam grins at him, instantly feeling more at ease. Of course Peter is stupid enough to believe that Tony Stark wouldn't have banged him in one of his very expensive rooms. It's kind of precious how naive he is. But still, it's nice to think that Peter would have turned him down even if he had offered.

“Yeah well I mean I _did_ make the food. I've seen you flirting with the shit I've made too, doesn't mean Stark isn't still a skeezebag.”

He expects a snarky comment, something about how making punch isn't that hard maybe, but instead Peter smiles a secretive little smile and looks away, almost as though he's trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asks, still feeling all prickly and annoyed from Tony's flirting. Peter just hums at him, the jackass, and the annoyance shifts from Tony to Peter just like that. “Seriously, what are you smirking about?”

“I think someone's jealous,” Peter sing-songs.

The words strike Sam directly in the chest, setting his heart beating out a rhythm he swears Peter can probably hear over the music.

Maybe Peter isn't as stupid as he thought. Maybe he's finally _finally_ picked up on the hints. And if he has... well he doesn't look upset. In fact, an optimistic part of Sam's brain points out, he looks the exact opposite of upset.

There's only one way to find out.

“Why would I be jealous?” he asks, trying for a scoff, although he's pretty certain he missed the mark and landed somewhere around quiet and hopeful instead.

Peter shrugs, his mouth dancing on the edge of laughter, eyes twinkling in delight.

“Well it's kinda obvious you have a crush,” he says as he leans forward. The movement makes their hands brush together, and for a moment Sam can't breathe, can't think beyond the blue of Peter's eyes and the warmth of his body.

“It's cool, don't worry. We all go through a Tony Stark phase at some point in our lives. If it makes you feel any better mine was in high school, so he's all yours,” Peter continues, laughing at the dumbstruck look on Sam's face.

Oh. Wow. Peter is just fucking _hilarious_.

“Pfft as if I have a thing for _Stark_ ,” he huffs, his heart sinking a little. Parker is either the stupidest most oblivious person in the world or... no that's it. Parker is the stupidest most oblivious person in the whole fucking world.

“Come on,” Sam says, grabbing Peter's hand. Peter for his part just blinks before going along with it, following behind him like a dumb puppy.

“Uh where are we going?” he asks, having to press in closer as they pass a group of women in sparkling gowns. The smell of their perfume assaults his nose, and though he supposes at some point in time he probably would have liked it, now it just makes him illogically annoyed. Now he can't smell Peter's cologne, not over the flowery scents so strong it's like being in a fucking garden.

“We're gonna dance, what else would we be doing dumbass,” Sam rolls his eyes at him.

Peter squeaks, staring at the dance floor like it's some sort of cage created specifically to trap him in dance hell. “I... I seriously haven't danced since high school! I don't know...”

Sam stares at him incredulously. How is that even possible? “You haven't even been to a club or anything? C’mon there's no way MJ didn't drag you to at least a few.”

Peter scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well yeah... but I mostly just sat in the corner while she did the dancing.”

“I heard the word _mostly_ in there,” Sam says triumphantly giving his hand another tug. “Come on Parker! Just dance with me.”

“Don't you have to cook something? And I should probably be taking pictures right now...”

“Oh so you've got time to flirt with Mr. Bad Touch over there, but you don't have time to dance with me?” Sam asks, pouting. Maybe it's not fair to play the wounded lover thing up, but Sam isn't above playing dirty.

“I- hey that's not... ugh,” Peter makes a frustrated noise, burying his head in his free hand. He looks miserable, but Sam notes that he isn't pulling his hand away. That's definitely a good sign.

“Listen Parker, I've got like ten minutes before I have to go back into the kitchen. Are you gonna dance with me or not?”

It says a lot about how much time he's been spending with Peter lately that Sam can tell the exact moment Peter gives in and decides to dance with him. It's easy to read the slight shift in the line of his mouth now, the way his eyes look up to the sky in that way they always do, like he's asking some unseen force for help.

“Fine, but you're going to regret this. I'm the _worst_ dancer, and I am totally stepping on your feet,” Peter says, and from the determined look in his eyes it doesn't seem like it'll be an accident.

Sam just rolls his eyes in response, dragging Peter out onto the dancefloor. He's treated to about a half a minute of Peter jerking his arms in what looks like a really accurate impression of a chicken flailing around a barnyard floor before the upbeat club song is fading away, only to be replaced by the soft opening strains of... yup. That's definitely a slow dance song.

Peter raises an eyebrow at him, and Sam shrugs, moving forward into the circle of Peter's arms with barely any hesitation. Maybe this is a mistake, but if there's ever going to be a time he can get away with this kind of intimacy he craves, it'd be tonight.

“Who gets to lead?” Peter chuckles, pulling him in closer seamlessly, pressing their bodies together. He's warm, and this close his cologne is very noticeable. If Sam closes his eyes he could get lost in this, the smell and feel of Peter, the sway of their bodies as they start to move to the soft strains of the piano. He could pretend that they're in Peter's living room swaying to the crackling sound of his old stereo system instead of here at this gala, dancing to music so clear it's like the band is standing in the room with them.

Right now he'd rather be there, away from all these rich people who don't give a shit about them and their normal everyday lives. He wants to be in his raggedy pajamas, he wants Peter to be kissing him, he wants so many things he can't have that it feels like his lungs might collapse from it.

“You okay?” Peter asks quietly, mouth pressed close to his ear to be heard over the music. Sam pulls back a little, blinking up at him. At some point while his eyes were closed he must have leaned his head down onto Peter's shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up into Peter's eyes.

He barely even notices that they're still moving, too caught up in the soft way Peter's looking at him, like maybe Sam is some kind of secret he can piece together, or maybe like he's the answer to a question that Peter is too afraid to ask. It makes his heart pound and his skin feel flushed and hot, like he's burning from the inside out. “Yeah... I'm good.”

“Good. Because you look a little constipated,” Peter laughs softly, and Sam buries his face back against his shoulder again.

Wow. Why does he even like this guy?

“You're a fucking asshole,” he murmurs against his neck, blushing when he feels Peter's lips brush his head. It's probably just an accident but _god_ does it make him ache.

This is fucking stupid. He's not a mushy guy, never has been. Yet here he is feeling like his insides have been replaced with ten tons of fucking porridge all because of Peter Parker, the worst and best person he's ever met. And he hates this. He hates it so much.

Even worse, Peter is a strangely good dancer for a nerd. He doesn't even step on Sam's feet once, and his arms are strong and firm where they hold him. He's more confident than he has any right to be, and it really isn't fair how much just a stupid little dance makes Sam melt.

He finds himself dreading the end of the song. Usually the idea of getting into the kitchen and losing himself in the act of cooking is something he craves, but this stolen moment here with Peter feels like something he might lose if he leaves. It feels fragile, and big, and the thought of the dance ending, of leaving for the kitchen, makes Sam feel nervous he'll never get this back.

“Hey,” Peter says, still quiet. “I uh... will you come over tonight?”

Sam smiles, and it takes everything in him to resist leaning forward and taking a kiss from the gorgeous nerd who looks ridiculously nervous, as if he doesn't ask the same question all the time.   
  
“Yeah. I have to go to back before Rocket decides to use the kitchen knives as weapons, but I'll meet up with you after?”

Peter nods, and then Sam isn't sure if he acted on his earlier impulse, or if Peter is the one who leans in first, but their lips are pressed together in a heart stoppingly sweet kiss. It barely lasts a few seconds, but Sam feels a little bit floaty when they pull apart. What helps anchor him is the sublimely stupid look on Peter's face. He huffs a little laugh, then pats his cheek before heading off to the kitchen.

“See you tonight Parker. Oh and hey, don’t skip dessert. I hear the chef makes a killer tiramisu” he calls back, and then heads for the disaster zone of the kitchen, fearing what he might find after Rocket's reign.


	11. Gentle Do-Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft moment before bed.

Peter honestly can't believe how lucky he is.

Here he is taking the hottest guy at the gala home (and no he's _not_ talking about Tony Stark no matter what Sam had implied), and he didn’t even have to do much beyond dance with him.

Then again, that dance… that dance was definitely something else. 

Peter can’t help but think there's something different about tonight. The whole atmosphere of the gala had been something Peter can't quite wrap his head around, and not just because of the weird Tony Stark quirks.

Teasing Sam there had felt so intimate, somehow. Holding his hand in front of all those people like they do this all the time, laughing together and watching each other and getting wrapped up in their own little world. And then that dance... god that dance.

He can't shake the way Sam had looked at him out of his head.

All he's done since Sam disappeared to the kitchen is replay it in his mind over and over again, feeling Sam so close, seeing him look so handsome. The sheer marvel of being able to steal that moment with him was overwhelming. Peter doesn't think he'll ever forget tonight.

And then they had kissed, right there in the middle of Tony Stark's fancy party. The crowded dance floor had just faded away, and for a moment it was just him and Sam pressed together warm and close, lips meeting in a kiss he wishes could have lasted so much longer.

“Shall we?” he asks when Sam emerges from the kitchen at the end of the night, offering the shorter man his arm. Sam quirks a grin and rolls his eyes. But he still links his elbow around Peter’s as they head for the exit.

The walk to Peter’s apartment is shorter, only a block away, so they head there. It's a strange walk. Full of some sort of tension that PEter cant eactly put his finger on.

It's definitely not a bad thing though. Just... different.

They keep casting glances at each other out of the corner of their eyes the whole way, catching each other in the act and not looking away. They talk about nothing, filling the air with loud exclamations about the party, the food, which of the rich guests were snooty and which were actually nice. It helps take the strange edge off a little. Makes it feel a bit more like the usual routine despite the fact that the usual routine has never before involved Sam’s hand sliding down Peter’s arm, his fingers curling between Peter’s own in a firm grasp.

Peter’s heart keeps fluttering each time he focuses on Sam’s hand in his, and he finds himself feeling light and free, like he’s soaring the last few miles to his apartment rather than walking.

The night air is cold, and it's a relief when they finally arrive at Peter's apartment building and step into the warmth of the lobby.

They both grow quiet on the elevator ride up to Peter’s place. The stillness between them isn’t awkward, but it feels more charged than a normal silence, and they never once let go of each other’s hands. Not even once they get through Peter’s door.

He half expects Sam to push him against the wall, but instead he gets gentle hands leading him to the bedroom and a knowing smile that promises good things to come.

The first kiss is a melting press of lips, a gentle tug bringing their bodies together, arms finding their way around his neck. It’s a breath stealing kiss. A kiss that lights up every nerve in Peter’s body, and magnetizes him, pulling him closer and closer until the seam between his and Sam’s bodies barely exists.

His shirt comes off slowly, Sam’s hands exploring, feeling out his muscles and warming already heated skin further. His pants go the same way, then his boxers and he does the same for Sam, stripping him slowly. Enjoying the buildup.

Peter kisses Sam’s neck, soft little things that make Sam shiver and drag his nails so very lightly down his arms, down his stomach, across his hips.

“Bed?” Sam asks, and it’s weird how he can look so confident and yet somehow also more shy than Peter has ever seen him before.

Peter eases them back onto the bed, which in itself feels a little bit unfamiliar. It's certainly a far cry from the few other times they'd actually made it to a bed. Those times had been more tumbling and grasping at each other with hands up under clothes and mouths on every bit of skin they could reach, than this soft descent.

This is more... more like what he'd expect real lovers to do. A gentle tug, a settling of Sam's weight on top of him and the tender press of lips that follows that makes Peter's heart beat harder in his chest than any dirty words or rough and rushed tearing off of clothes could ever hope to achieve.

Everything is soft and good, and he can feel Sam's matching smile as their lips move together. Then it melts away, they melt together, Sam's hips moving so minutely that it's almost a tease. Each movement may be small, but the feeling it builds is intense. The heat is in Peter's chest, pooling low in his stomach, all building up and up and up until he can't help but roll them over, grind down harder, firmer, never breaking their kiss.

The lube is already there beside his bed from the last time, so easy to reach when they halt for breath. They pause like that, lips inches apart for a moment, just taking in the moment. Sam's pupils are huge Peter notes. His lips are red and parted, his cheeks pink and breath shallow.

Peter can't help but think he's beautiful.

He fingers Sam open slowly, almost teasingly. There's no rush this time, no desperate shaking need to be naked and inside him before they have a chance to think this through and back out. He feels like he has time to enjoy all of the whimpery little sounds he's chasing from Sam's mouth, to take in every tremor that runs through his naked body and catalog the expressions dancing across his blushing face.

“Peter...” Sam groans, lifting his hips up to give Peter a better angle, driving him in deeper. “Peter come on.”

Peter presses a kiss to his neck, to his chest, his stomach, and Sam writhes for him, caught between annoyance and bliss.

“God,” he moans, a hard puff of air that Peter feels through his body. He wants this. He wants to do everything with Sam right now, to worship his body with hands and lips and tongue until he can't take anymore, but the thought makes him nervous for some inexplicable reason. So instead he just leans back up, kissing Sam senseless as he moves his fingers out and lines himself up.

Sam makes a noise against his mouth losing all semblance of control over the kiss as Peter presses inside. Peter hums back relishing in the nail marks Sam is making on his shoulders. He keeps going, sinking deeper and deeper, trying to coax Sam back into the kiss though he's pretty sure he's lost him to the haze of pleasure, especially if the noises he's making in the back of his throat are anything to go by.

Their lips part, and Peter finds himself gazing into partially lidded blue eyes with a sense of wonder he's never felt in this situation before. Sam blinks up at him, and suddenly Peter realizes that this is _different_ somehow.

This is... terrifying.

He sees his thoughts reflected in the way Sam's expression shifts, his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes darting away and his whole body going just a little bit rigid under Peter's.

This is bad. This is red alert, lines being crossed every which way, holy fucking _shit abort mission_ bad.

Because Peter can practically taste the words he wants to whisper in Sam's ear, against his lips, into his neck. And those words are softer and sweeter than the 'oh yeah harder's and the 'right there fuck's that have punctuated these little encounters up until now.

This isn't what they're used to, not at all what they'd said they wanted. Sam likes being up on his hands knees or fucking against the wall or having Peter hold him down squirming and hard beneath him. They've done it on the floor, the table, once they'd even done it on the balcony for god's sake, but it's never meant anything to Sam. This is just supposed to be sex, mindless and rushed, nothing but two bodies getting the release they need and moving on. But this, whatever they are doing right now... it doesn't feel like getting off. It feels like more, and Peter thinks he might suffocate under the weight of it.

“Is uh... is this okay? Do you want to try something else?” he asks uncertainly, unable to stop his hand from coming up to gently push a strand of Sam's hair out of his eyes.

He expects Sam to want to flip over, or maybe suggest they move this to the floor, or the desk or any other surface and keep going there. Anything to break whatever this mood is that has overtaken them. And for a moment it looks like he's right, the way Sam's expression shifts a dead giveaway that he's ready for something to change.

But then his eyes meet Peter's again, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, urging Peter's hips back into movement with a roll of his own.

"No, no, this is good,” he says softly. “I like this."

“Okay. Good,” Peter says back, just as softly, and presses forward again.

Sam's eyes flicker closed. His lashes are longer than Peter remembered, dark and delicate against his skin. Peter finds himself torn between missing the blue of his eyes and a sweep of relief. At least with his eyes closed he can't see Peter's face and guess at what he's feeling. Not that Peter even knows himself.

All he knows is that his chest is lit up like Christmas morning just looking at Sam's face.

Sam's hands are above his head, like he's afraid to touch Peter. Like he maybe he thinks if he does he might shatter something, or that he'll feed the flames of whatever this is, and he doesn't want that. But Peter wants to feel his fingers closed around any part of him, his hands skimming over his chest, or gripping his hips, or even held between his own empty hands. He wants Sam's whole body to be touching him. He rolls his hips, thrusting deep and shaking Sam to his core as he slides his hands up and laces their fingers together, not thinking about it beyond warmth and wanting, and _craving_ that connection in the moment.

Sam moans, his fingers squeezing Peter gently as he starts canting his hips up into each thrust. “Sam,” he moans, soft and low. He wants to say something else, the words are on the tip of his tongue just waiting to trip out. Sam I want you. I need you. I-

“Peter,” Sam replies quiet and intense, and maybe it's just a trick of the moment but he's sure that he can hear the same sentiments echoed back to him in his voice.

Rocking into the heat of him as they watch each other's faces feels more intimate than anything he's ever done in his life. This might be the tamest their encounters have ever been, yet something about it is infinitely better than any time that has come before. Sam's hands in his tighten with each thrust as he rides them out, his legs wrapped tightly around Peter's waist.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers, staying buried deep as he rocks back and forth, the head of his cock rubbing against the spot inside him that makes Sam's toes curl.

“Peter,” Sam breathes in answer, his eyes squeezing shut tight as another shiver of pleasure rocks through his body. “So good.”

It's hard for Peter to keep his smile at bay, and it feels so perfect and good that Peter stops trying and just lets it spread on his face. Sam looks confused, almost scared for a moment, before his lips are twitching up too. Then they're kissing, giggling against each other's mouths, rocking their bodies together.

“Why are you laughing?” Sam asks when they need to breathe, still laughing himself.

Peter nuzzles at his shoulder, pulling out further now, each thrust a long slow slide that steals Sam's breath away. Peter's too as he sinks in deep again and again, the heat of Sam's body welcoming him, the laughter and little gasps on Sam's lips urging him on.

“Why are you?” he shoots back, both of them giggling harder at that. He feels like he's floating on air, like he's going loopy drowning in pleasure, in the heady feeling of laughing together, in _Sam._

“Oh, right there,” Sam gasps out, his giggles dissolving into breathy little sounds as Peter keeps up that angle and runs his hands over every inch of Sam's gorgeous body he can reach. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, just languishing in the feeling of this. Being with Sam feels like being where he's meant to be. Being with Sam feels like it's bigger than anything he could ever put into words... and it scares him. It scares him so much because if Sam doesn't feel it, if Sam doesn't want it, Peter feels like his whole world might crumble away. He'll survive sure, but Sam has become his sunshine, and maybe it's the fantastic sex or maybe it's the confusing swirl of emotions making him feel poetic but he doesn't want to go back to living in the darkness.

He curls his hand around Sam's dick between them, and Sam moans his name soft and sweet. They're too far gone to kiss anymore, but Peter presses his nose against Sam's, breathing his air and feeling the panting gusts of Sam's breath against his wet lips. He rests his forehead against him gently and twists his hips just a little bit and Sam makes the most beautiful little sound, clinging to him tighter.

“Peter! Peter I l-ahh,” Sam throws his head back as he comes, his nails digging into Peter's shoulders as Peter joins him. It's so close, so intimate that it's like one orgasm rocking through them both.

Peter presses his forehead against Sam’s, both of them breathing heavily. He can feel how loose and melty Sam has gone beneath him, and he smiles, nudging his nose against Sam’s.

“Mmm. You’re a nerd Pete,” Sam mumbles sleepily, but he’s smiling too and his arms are still wrapped around his neck.

Peter honestly can’t think of an argument against that right now, let alone a witty comeback. Instead he murmurs unintelligibly and reluctantly pulls out, rolling over onto his side facing Sam. Immediately he’s met with greedy arms wrapping around his middle and a face nuzzling up against his chest.

He chuckles quietly, earning a disgruntled and somewhat questioning grumble.

“Sleep time?” he asks softly, pressing his face against Sam’s hair in a not-quite-kiss.

He curls himself around Sam's body, entwining them in every way possible and smiles when Sam presses a tired kiss to his chest.

“Nah,” he grumbles, and for a second Peter fears he’s about to say he has to head home. “Wanna see the pictures you took at the gala first. Make sure you got some good ones of me n’shit.”

Peter laughs, trying not to let his relief show.

“I got a few of you picking your nose, if that’s what you wanna call your good side,” he tells Sam. It’s enough to make him pull his head back a little and glare sleepily. “You know I’m thinking of captioning it Chef Alexander _s’not_ really sanitary.”

Sam groans, butting his head against Peter’s chest and squeezing him hard enough to actually kinda hurt. Then he’s poking at him, making Peter squirm in a futile attempt to escape his grasp.

“You’re an asshole. Go get the camera,” Sam whines.

“Ooh eloquent comeback. Very pithy, very cutting.”

“Yeah well your face is… you’re an eloq- a pissy- ugh fuck you. Just get the stupid camera.”

Peter cackles as he buries his face in Sam’s hair one last time before getting up to go grab his camera. It’s not a super pleasant experience with all the hair gel, but running his fingers through it earlier had at least made it a little less stiff.

He can feel Sam’s appreciative gaze as he returns, and it makes him blush a little despite their earlier activities.

There’s still that strange different feeling as he settles into bed and Sam curls himself up against his side. It’s a sense of intimacy that they’ve both carefully tried to avoid, though there have been more moments than Peter would like to admit that have seemed soft like this. Yet they never last long, always shattering as one or both of them forcefully broke the mood in the past. Now, pressed together looking at his camera and laughing, it feels good.

It feels safe and warm. Peter realizes with striking clarity as they laugh at an unflattering picture of Tony Stark and he traces the lines of ink on Sam’s arms that he hasn’t felt this happy in a very very long time.

 


	12. Emergency Handjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pull in case of feelings.

When Peter wakes up to streaks of light filtering in through the blinds the first thing he notices is that his alarm hasn't gone off yet. He takes a second to thank every pantheon in existence for the blessed extra few minutes of sleep before it suddenly hits him that he isn't alone in bed. There's a pleasant heat radiating from the hand curled snugly around his hipbone, gentle rhythmic puffs of breath tickling the hair at the back of his neck.

The hand on him is a decent size, and very warm, curled perfectly around the jut of his hip like a mitt around a baseball. It's almost possessive, but mostly it just makes him feel safe. Held. Wanted.

He sighs contentedly.

This is nice.

He figures Sam must be asleep so he doesn't bother opening his eyes, just nuzzles his face down into the pillow sleepily, only to be proven wrong when he feels lips press briefly against his shoulder.

It's a little bit surprising how strong the little curl of happiness in his chest is just at the tiny gesture, but then again maybe he shouldn't be that surprised. After all it's starting to be a familiar reaction to Sam being close.

Unfortunately, the happiness deflates just as quickly as Sam tenses as though he's suddenly realized what he just did.

Peter is tempted to grumble, but that'd ruin the illusion of him being asleep. This isn't the first time Sam has tensed up when he does something a little bit too fond, and Peter is starting to get tired of it. Seriously. Is it really so bad to be affectionate?

They've been doing this for months now, and sometimes it's impossible to keep himself from doing sweet little gestures, but Sam doesn't seem to mind receiving them, it's just giving that makes him freeze up. It's beyond frustrating.

Then again maybe it's for the best. It reminds Peter that they aren't together, not really. Every day it gets harder and harder to ignore how he feels for Sam, but he's doing it. Maybe if Sam started being openly affectionate he'd tip over that edge, he'd ask Sam to go out and set this whole thing crumbling down.

But it still hurts. It feels like rejection. Like a statement. I want your body, but I don't want you. Not as more than a friend at least. And Sam's friendship is so important to him, he'd never do anything to jeopardize it (well except the whole sleeping with him thing...) but he can't stop himself from longing for something he can't have.

But even if they aren't something more, can't they even just-

Peter's thoughts slam to a halt as the hand on his hip moves, starting a slow descent and waking him up more instantly than any alarm could. Making his blood thrum.

His back arches, flesh heating and pricking as Sam's fingers dip lower, taking his time like he's savoring the process of mapping of his smooth skin.

“Mmm g'morning,” Peter breathes as Sam's fingertips trail along his length. “This is a nice wakeup call.”

“I figured you'd think so,” Sam laughs, voice low and sleep rough in his ear. His hand closes around him in a firm grip now, pumping. Peter shivers and presses back against the solid warmth of him, letting himself go boneless as Sam works him over.

His lips are back on Peter's shoulder, less gentle this time, which a bitter part of Peter's brain notes he seems to have no problem with. Almost as though he heard the thought Sam bites down, and the resulting yelp and the thudding pain paired with the pleasure of Sam's hand on him makes Peter forget all about being bitter.

Sam giggles against his skin, soothing the mark with his tongue. “Cute sound,” he says, twisting his wrist and thumbing at the head of Peter's cock.

“Shut up,” he groans back, pushing himself back to grind against Sam's growing erection. “That hurt.”

“Aww, you want me to kiss it better?”

Peter grabs Sam's hand, pulling it off of him and turning over to face his wide startled eyes. Sam opens his mouth, possibly to apologize, but Peter is already pressing his grinning mouth against Sam's before he has a chance to speak.

He bites down on Sam's lower lip and gets a whine that makes heat flare in his veins. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his hips down. “Kiss it better.”

Sam kisses him again, sucking at his lower lip and getting his thigh between Peter's legs. They move together, their kisses getting messier as the friction between them makes them lose their concentration.   


“Better?” Sam asks, barely able to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against Peter's.

Peter smiles at him, staring into his eyes, noticing how beautiful and blue they are even in the dim morning light. “Not even close,” he whispers and kisses him again and again, grinding their hips together.

Sam presses soft, achingly sensual kisses down his neck, only to suddenly freeze, Peter's hand tangled softly in his hair.

He's just about to ask him what's wrong when suddenly Sam bites his neck. Hard. Peter's hips buck as he cries out in surprise.

“Sam,” he breathes, and gets another harder bite as Sam speeds up the rolling of his hips, grinding them together in the most delicious way.

“Want you to fuck me,” Sam growls, digging his nails into Peter's shoulders. “Come on Pete, use me,” he pants, rolling his hips hard and pressing rough needy kisses against his lips. “Make me scream.”

For a second more Peter is thrown by the change of pace. They'd been having a moment and then...

Oh.

Oh of course.

Sam isn't here for moments. Sam isn't here to look into his eyes and feel his skin and kiss him good morning. Sam is here to fuck, and that's all Peter is to him. A mindless fuck. Last night was a fluke, one that Sam seems intent on fixing if the hard nip to Peter's shoulder is anything to go by.

God, how could he have been so stupid?

Peter flips him over, pinning him to the bed and rolling his hips down hard.

If that's all Sam wants, then Peter can deliver. Because underneath it all, Peter can't help but want to make Sam feel good, even if he has to rip out his own heart in the process. And if this is the only closeness he's going to be afforded he's damn well going to take what he can get.

“Mmm yeah, that's it,” Sam encourages, his nails raking down Peter's back hard enough to leave bright red marks. The sting of it makes him moan, a shudder going through him as Sam opens his legs wider beneath him.

He kisses Sam hard, and gets biting kisses to his already bruised lips in return. There's nothing left of the gentleness from before, now it's all raw desire and desperate sounds and pure _need_.

“Fuck, Parker. Come on come on,” Sam groans. “I need it. Fuck me like you hate me.”

He moves backwards and then flips Sam over onto his stomach like it's nothing, something which Sam clearly enjoys if the way he shudders is any indication. Peter grips his shoulders tight, pressing hard kisses against his shoulder as he scrapes his nails up the back of Sam's thighs, settling over him so he can tease at his hole.

“Yeah Pete. That's right. Put me where you want me,” Sam groans as Peter lifts his hips and pushes his legs apart, spreading him open for him. He prepares Sam quickly, barely taking time to indulge in the twist of his fingers inside of him like he normally does. Sam still makes the soft perfect little noises for him though, reacting so beautifully to each curl of his fingers that he's so very tempted to take his time, to just work him until he's a mess of pleasure just for him. But that's not what Sam is asking for, so he pulls out, lubes himself and lines up before Sam can feel the loss too much.

More than anything he wishes he could see his face as he sinks in, stretching him wide and filling him up. He loves to watch Sam's expression, to see him tilt his head back when he hits that perfect spot inside of him, to see his lips twitch up into a smile as he makes him lose it inch by pleasurable inch.

Instead he grabs Sam's hips firmly and pulls him back against him, grinning at the surprised but undoubtedly happy shout that the action earns him.

“You like that huh?” he growls, rolling his hips forward hard.

“God... fuck yeah,” Sam pants in response, his cock hard and leaking precome onto the bed.

Peter grabs him, jerking him off roughly along with his thrusts and Sam groans. He’s letting Peter set the pace, letting him use him like a toy and just holding on for the ride.

Peter pulls his hair none too gently, making him tilt his head back as he slams into him, and Sam moans for it. Sam lets him bite him hard enough to mark him, and holds himself up on shaking arms as best he can as Peter fucks him exactly how he begged for it.

“Peter,” he gasps, as Peter pulls his hair again, angling his thrusts. “Feels so good. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Peter wants to say “you feel good too.” He wants to say “I could do this forever and never get tired of it,” or “I want to hold you tighter, make you come for me, make you mine.” “I want you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.” He wants to tell Sam how much fun he has with him, how much he cares about him. To spill all of his secrets out right here and now, until they’re both drowning under the tide of all of them pouring out of his mouth in wave after wave.

“I do have neighbours you know,” Peter says instead, fucking him through the mattress and making it _very_ difficult for Sam to be quiet despite his warning words.

In fact, Sam gets louder and louder the harder he fucks him, until finally Peter reaches around and covers his mouth with one hand, his fear for his neighbours overwhelming his sense. He half expects Sam to bite him, but instead he just makes a filthy moan against his palm, his whole body shuddering.

Clearly he likes that too.

“Fine. Be as loud as you want,” Peter says, smirking against his shoulder. With his free hand he tweaks one of Sam's nipples, smiling wider against Sam's skin as his blissed out shout is muffled in his hand.

He teases his sensitive nipples, alternating between them as he plows into him, and Sam whines and wriggles, overwhelmed by the sensations as Peter plays with him, taking his pleasure from every sound Sam makes into his hand, and every jerk of his hips he draws from him.

Peter trails his hand down Sam's chest, scratching lightly at his abs and down his treasure trail.

“You're gorgeous,” he tells him. “So fucking gorgeous, taking it for me.”

The words combined with Peter's hand closing around his cock are enough to tip Sam over the edge, coming with a wrecked sob that sounds amazing even from behind his hand.

Peter pulls his hand away from Sam's mouth, desperate to hear the little moans and the broken little sounds caught in his throat without anything blocking them. And Sam delivers, the sounds he makes and the way he keeps pushing back against Peter even now that he's spent all bringing him that much closer to orgasm.

He keeps working his hips, fucking little whimpering sounds from Sam's lips and watching the little aftershocks of pleasure rock through his body.

“Come on,” Sam manages weakly. Then, softly, “ _Peter_.”

The sound of his name is enough to make him come, buried deep in Sam's body. He laces his fingers in Sam's on the bed, muffling his shout against Sam's shoulder.

Peter pulls out and rolls over, and it's alarming how easily he folds Sam into his arms, how their breathing slows down in tandem, how Sam nuzzling against his neck makes him melt.

Whatever Sam was trying to do with the rough sex... it didn't work. Peter still only wants to hold him and kiss him and spend the day in bed just doing nothing together. And Sam... Sam doesn't want that. That much is clear now more than ever.

“Don't you have work?” Peter asks reluctantly, trying to keep his voice light and inquisitive, pretending like his heart isn't breaking a little bit in his chest.

Sam goes tense all over again, and Peter rolls his eyes where he can't see. Sam must have just been hit with the realization that they're currently curled around each other like two people in love. And he wouldn't want to give Peter the wrong idea now would he? Peter fights back the urge to laugh bitterly at the thought.

“Yeah, I guess I should probably shower,” Sam says, pulling away.

Peter stays in bed, listening to the sounds of the shower and wishing he was in there with Sam. Not even for sex, just to share the warmth of the shower, to be with him for a few more precious moments before he leaves.

When Sam comes out he's still naked, and it's almost comical how quickly Peter's dick takes notice. He's not even doing anything and already Peter feels like he could just pull him into bed and keep him there all day.

“I’m busy tonight, but maybe tomorrow we could fuck again?” Sam says as he pulls on his pants, as though reading Peter's mind.

The phrasing stings like a slap. But it's not like it's unexpected so he tries not to let it show. “I can't tomorrow, I have a night shoot. Maybe after the thing at May's on Friday?”

A not so small part of Peter wishes he could see Sam sooner, but maybe this will be good. It'll give him some time to cool off, to collect himself.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Sam pauses, fully clothed now and ready to walk out, and something flickers across his face. Then he's walking back, pressing a sweet lingering kiss to Peter's lips. It's soft and light and it makes every nerve ending in Peter's body light up. The gentle hand cupping his face gives him goosebumps that last even after Sam has pulled away.

“Talk to you later Parker.”

Peter blinks, just staring at the door after Sam leaves.

Fuck.

He is so so very screwed.

This was never a good plan. Not for a single second did he think it was, and now he's trapped. There’s no way out.

 This never should have happened. He should never have slept with Sam. Never asked to be friends with benefits.

Because now Peter knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is completely and utterly in love with Sam Alexander.

And he has no idea what to do about it.


	13. Dumbfuck Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangouts and big doubts and fallouts, oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone life has been kicking my ass, so this is very late.

Sam isn’t looking forward to seeing Peter today.

After all, this will be the first time they’ve seen each other since that night two weekends ago after the gala.

Yeah, it's been a long time, and Sam _knows_ he's to blame. 

Every time Peter has called or texted Sam has come up with some reason to avoid him. He’s been busy with work after all. And he has other things to do. With so much stuff on his plate he doesn’t have to admit the real reason he’s been avoiding him, not even to himself.

Sam tries not to think about that night, and tries even harder not to think about the morning after.

That was better wasn’t it? Having Peter take him hard like that in the morning, losing himself in a meaningless fuck. Making himself focus on just sex. That was what they were both in this for. What Sam keeps forgetting. It had to have been better.

Maybe.

But then again maybe not. Because when he thinks of Peter he still thinks of warm arms, and bright smiles. Fingers fumbling at a camera and soft laughter and witty little comments that most people ignore, but make Sam laugh like nothing else does. Whenever he closes his eyes it’s not only Peter’s naked skin he sees, but their fingers intertwined. The mess of Peter’s hair. He almost feels Peter’s lips against his own, soft and sweet, and that’s when he has to force himself to think of other things.

If he keeps himself busy it’s easier to push thoughts of Peter to the back of his mind. Easier to forget Peter calling his kitchen utensils bdsm toys, or to remember feeding him and the happy little sounds he makes when he eats Sam’s food.

No.

No… the mindless fucking…that was definitely better.

If Peter fucks him like he doesn't care, if he makes it harder for Sam to fool himself into thinking there's more between them than there really is, maybe it'll hurt less when this all comes crashing down.

Still, that decided, he can't avoid him forever. He has to go to this little high school reunion at Peter's aunts house. His friends he could let down, and Peter he could let down but May Parker? He could never.

He brings flowers to May’s house, and she coos over him as always, making him blush. Still, it feels good. Feels like how his mom always acts when he visits her after a long time apart.

He’s the first one there, and it’s nice to just help her cook dinner and chat for a while catching up. She asks about his family (they’re great May, they’re having a reunion next week but I’m not sure if I’ll make it) and his restaurant (business is fantastic, yes I’d love to have you come in some day. No of course you’ll eat on the house) and she updates him on her latest adventures (camping in the Alps! You wouldn’t believe how cold it was!)

By the time Ava gets there the food is almost ready, and the three of them laugh and joke together as they help set the table, just like old times.

“Ugh. Sorry for leaving you alone with him for so long May,” Ava sighs as Sam brandishes an origami napkin swan at them proudly.

“I spent years of my life living with Peter, this is nothing,” she laughs, patting Sam’s head before retreating back to the kitchen.

Sam cries out indignantly at that as the swan neck droops sadly. He may be bad but he’s not _Parker_ bad. And origami is cool!

Ava smirks at him and follows her out of the room.

“At least you appreciate me François,” he tells the quickly unfolding napkin, then shakes his head. He really has been spending too much time with Peter. He’s even starting to sound like him.

Danny and Luke arrive together a few minutes later and make themselves comfortable in the living room, with Sam and Ava joining them after a brief tussle with May as she insists on shooing them out of the kitchen.

All in all it’s been a nice visit.

Then Peter arrives, last of course, and suddenly it’s like all of the air has rushed out of the room.

“Hey guys, you’re all here already?” he asks as though he hasn’t just wandered in over half an hour later than they’d planned to meet. His hair is mussed from the wind or maybe from the way he always drags his fingers through them when he’s feeling stressed or uncomfortable, and his cheeks are rosy from the cold. He’s wearing Sam’s too-big dark green hoodie that he’d left at his house last time he’d been there. It fits better and Pete than it does on him, and Sam is still huffy about it. He's also wearing an old but extremely soft cotton t-shirt and a torn up pair of jeans. He looks for all the world like he’d just thrown on the first things he could find and run out the door.

It's a good look. The urge to kiss him is almost unbearable.

Sam looks away.

Peter of course decides to sit down beside him on the loveseat instead of on the perfectly free chair, chatting amicably with everyone as though he isn’t a big, warm, nice pain in Sam’s ass. He presses his leg against Sam and the warm feeling that’s been slowly building in his chest floods through him stronger than before, tinging his cheeks pink.

He’s so relieved to hear May call them for dinner that he almost forgets to shove his way up off the couch using his hand on the side of Peter’s head for leverage. Peter whines about it of course, but even _that_ makes the fire inside Sam burn a little brighter.

God damn it.

Sam shakes his head. He can ignore this. This is fine. He’s been through far worse situations in his life. At least that’s what he tells himself as he takes his seat at the table. He’ll eat his meal, ignore Peter Parker and leave this whole group hangout happy, having had a great visit.

So of course halfway through dinner is when everything falls apart.

“Peter darling, I've been meaning to ask you. Are you seeing anyone?” Aunt May asks, smiling in that way that always means she has a scheme. Oddly, this time Sam isn’t all that excited to hear about it. As much as he loves embarrassing Peter… the topic isn’t exactly one he’s comfortable with either.

“Umm... no?” Peter says, though it’s leaning more towards a question than an answer. If May notice the discrepancy in his tone she doesn’t mention it, moving on with delighted ease.

“Oh lovely! You remember my friend Florence? Her daughter is in town, and she's a very sweet girl. Single too. Maybe you two could get together for coffee?”

Peter is clearly sweating now, and Sam kind of wants to laugh into his plate. He also kind of wants to drag Peter into a scorching kiss right there in front of everyone, just to say 'No, he's  _mine_.'

“Oh god, aunt May that's really uh... well it's nice of you but wow uh... this is embarrassing. You really don't have to do that,” Peter stutters, taking a large gulp of his water.

“Oh Peter it's no trouble,” she insists.

Sam cringes.

Knowing Peter he’ll end up blabbing their whole deal to the entire table, and he’d kind of been hoping to deliver the news in a less awkward way.

“Could we talk about this later maybe?” Peter asks, looking around at the rest of them gathered around the table. Everyone, even Danny, is trying to politely hide their smiles or snickers to varying degrees of success.

“Peter, I’m sure your friends don’t mind. They want you to be happy,” May says, though she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to her poor nephew. Sometimes Sam thinks he should go to May for tips on how to make Peter feels as awkward as possible. She’s clearly an evil genius.

“No really I'm not... I mean I am! I'm just-”

“Oh do you not want a relationship right now dear?”

Sam pretends to be uninterested, poking at his slightly dry meatloaf instead. At least she’s given him an out. Even she isn’t _that_ evil.

“Well... no I mean I guess I wouldn't mind one. But I can find someone myself aunt May really.”

Sam frowns at that, the meat on his plate suddenly a thousand times more interesting. Parker never said he was looking for a relationship. Or maybe Sam had just assumed that since he wasn’t interested in _him_ he wasn’t looking at all.

The thought stings.

May frowns, spooning more peas onto her plate. “Come now Peter, there’s no shame in being set up on a date. If you aren’t interested in Flo’s daughter perhaps I could find a nice boy?”   


“Come on May, why set him up with some random guy when he and Sam are practically married anyways,” Ava snorts from the other end of the table, and for a moment Sam’s heart stops. He and Peter aren’t exactly a secret, but they haven’t told their friends that they’re hooking up yet either. If Ava somehow knows…

The rest of their friends laugh, and Sam suddenly remembers the old joke from high school. Back when they had fought like cats and dogs everyone had made cracks about them being a married couple just to piss them off. Once they’d become friends, the jokes had gotten worse, more frequent. It hadn’t helped Sam in trying to shake his crush on his nerdy classmate.

He rolls his eyes at their antics, and shoots a look over at Peter, meaning to share the private joke of their actual… whatever it was… with him. Instead he finds Peter looking panicked, his eyes wide even as he tries to plaster a smile onto his face.

“As if,” he says. “That’s like the worst idea in the world.”

Sam’s heart sinks, the words twisting inside him like a knife.

“I mean, hah we'd uh, we'd be awful together, right Sam?” Peter prompts, trying to get him on his side. “All we do is fight.”

Awful. Right. That’s what Peter thinks about a relationship with him. How could he have forgotten that what they had was just sex. He never should have let things get this far.

“Yeah,” Sam says shortly, staring down at his plate, clenching his jaw. “I kind of want to punch you right now honestly.”

That gets a chuckle from most of their friends, but when he looks back up Peter’s brow is furrowed and May expression is a strange mix of sudden realization and concern.

“Oh! That reminds me, while we’re on the subject of romance, have I told you yet what Phil got me for our anniversary?” she says, smoothing changing the subject and drawing attention away from Sam and Peter, who he can feel staring at him in confusion.

When Sam finally looks up, it’s Danny’s concerned eyes he meets, not Peter’s. He blinks, looking away quickly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry or to smash something.

“It’s so crazy to think you’ve been married to princi- to uh Phil for five years now,” he interjects, still avoiding Peter’s gaze. “It kinda seems like it was only a few weeks ago that Peter was complaining about it.”

“That’s because it probably was,” Luke laughs.

“Hey! It was not! I love Phil. I mean he’s still sort of uh… intimidating. But once you’ve seen him in a face mask it kind of makes him seem more human.”

“Please tell me you have pictures of that,” Ava says, her eyes lighting up when Peter presumably grins and starts pulling out his phone. May sighs as everyone moves to crowd around Peter, but she’s smiling a little bit fondly.

Sam wishes he could join in the merriment, but Peter has put a sour note on everything.

Obviously this thing between them is too fucked up to continue. Sam doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. He can’t pretend like he isn’t head over heels when…

Firmly he makes up his mind. He won’t see Peter tonight. Hell… maybe he’ll go to his week-long family reunion in Arizona after all. He’d told Peter he wasn’t going when he first got the invite, but now it’s the only way to get some space. Maybe somehow in Carefree he’ll be able to get some clarity or some new perspective or some shit like that.

The irony of running away from his problems to a place called Carefree isn’t lost on him, but at the moment he doesn’t find it that funny.

It isn’t until after dinner that Sam acknowledges Peter directly.

“Hey Sam, I uh... are you still coming over tonight?” Peter asks, approaching him once everyone has relocated to the living room. He seems hesitant, sensing Sam's mood.

“No. I’ll be packing,” Sam growls, refusing to look at him.

“You’re always packing,” he tries to tease, dropping his voice low and seductive. Any other day it might be mildly amusing, but not today.

 “I’m headed to Arizona for that family thing,” he says, desperately wanting to just start a fight. That’s what they always used to do. But there’s nothing for him to be mad about. Peter never said this was going to be anything other than a hookup. And as much as he wants to blame Parker for leading him on, wants to say this whole thing is his fault for being cute and kind and making Sam _feel_ things, that’s not really something he can scream at him for. All he can do right now is get away.

Maybe if he gets far enough whatever he’s feeling for Peter will just die.

“I thought you weren't going to that?” Peter asks, frowning. He looks a little bit like a puppy that just got its food bowl snatched away for no reason, and Sam has to quickly look away. Fight to stay mad.

Sam shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah well, I already got the time off work and it's not like there's anything else to keep me here so I figured why not.” He keeps his eyes on the plate in front of him, refusing to check for a reaction that he doubts he'll get from Peter. “Besides I miss my family. It'll be good to see them.”

“Oh. Right,” Peter says, voice small. “Will you have your phone?”

“Yeah I’ll have it. I’ll text you if I get a chance I guess,” he concedes. Peter stays silent for a moment, and Sam has to struggle not to fidget under his gaze. Then, before he knows what’s happening Peter’s lips are against his cheek.

“Okay. Come on out, I think I’ve convinced everyone to play Snake Oil. You liked that one last time,” he says, his voice still quiet. There’s something almost fragile about the way he’s talking now, like he’s afraid he might press too hard and shatter something in Sam. Or maybe it’s something in himself. Either way Sam hates it. This isn’t what Peter should sound like. Peter should sound happy, he should be snarking and laughing and teasing Sam with that flirtatious edge to his voice, that hint of sarcasm that makes Sam want to kiss him silent. He shouldn’t sound this… dejected.

Maybe Sam going away will be good for both of them.

 “Yeah, let’s do it,” he says, his heart not really in it. “I'll be out in just a sec.”

Peter hesitates for a moment longer, then turns to leave, frowning. 

Sam takes a moment to bury his head in his hands, just trying to breathe. Trying not to cry. 

He shouldn't have let himself play pretend. He shouldn't have convinced himself that just because Peter was sweet and affectionate he was... what? Had he really thought Peter might be falling in love with him?

He laughs bitterly to himself, the sound a little wetter than he wanted it to be. 

Scrubbing at his eyes he takes a sip of water and plasters a smile on his face.

Time to play games and laugh and pretend like his heart isn't breaking. Just like in high school. 

Same old same old when it comes to dealing with Peter Parker, he thinks to himself wryly, and heads into the living room.

 

 


	14. The Return of the Ex Girlfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His girlfriends are back and he's gonna be in trouble

“Peter Parker. Look at you.”

Peter is grabbing a sandwich when a familiar voice says his name, rather closer to his ear than he was anticipating.

He yelps, spinning around and almost dropping his food on the floor when he comes face to face with… well maybe face to chest is more accurate. Felicia Hardy always did like her low cut tops, and old habits die hard for Peter. Not that she’s ever minded people checking out the goods.

“Fel! Holy… wow hi!”

She looks almost unreal in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the sandwich shop. Her hair is just as white as ever, perfectly styled to frame her face, and her lips are painted cherry red and her eyeliner applied into wings so sharp she could stab a thousand men with them and never even cause a smudge. Even her plain black t-shirt looks somehow more expensive than the entire contents of Peter’s house. The last place on earth he would have expected to see her is in this little hole in the wall place.

“It’s been a while,” she says, her eyes tracing down his body far too slow for Peter’s comfort. He shifts nervously, but that just makes her smirk, her gaze lingering rather too far below the belt to be polite.

“Ahem. Yes. I think the last time I saw you was that day you ripped out my heart and stomped it on the ground. You look good,” he replies casually, noticing the slight frown he gets for that.

“Oh come on Petey, you aren’t still hung up over that are you? You know things between us weren’t going to work. I was just the first one to say it.”

True, but Peter privately thinks she could have done it in a better way than telling him he was boring and she was moving on. In the middle of a date.

“Yeah,” he replies, not feeling like pushing the point. “You really do look good.”

“Darling, excuse me saying this, but _you_ look awful,” she says, her eyes tracing his face now, which is somehow not any more comfortable.

“Thanks Fel, nice to see you too,” he grumbles.

“I mean not your body. That’s as delicious as ever. But it looks like you haven’t slept in a week,” she says. Peter is pleased to note she actually does seem genuinely concerned. Not that it lasts when she adds “Hmm. I think you just need someone to take care of you huh? I’m assuming Red isn’t around to do that anymore,”

“Well actually I just bought some night cream so you know, aspirations of being Miss America still on track. Thanks for the concern though,” he huffs, smiling ever so slightly when she laughs.

“Good to see you’ve still got that sense of humour. Come out for a drink with me so I can see some more of it,” she purrs, and lord Peter had forgotten how good she was at this. Her lips are pouty but quirked up into an enticing smile, her hair feathered perfectly with just enough of it hanging forward to make him remember the way she used to look up at him through it when they… and her neckline is so low, her chest…

“Sorry Fel I uh... I can't really do that.”

The pout gets poutier, and Peter almost laughs at that. He knows he hasn’t upset her too badly. He’s seen her when she’s really upset, and she never bothers to put on the act then. At least not with him.

She narrows her eyes at him, and then smirks. “Hmmm, really?” she says, drawing out the syllables, a downright terrifying smile dawning on her face. “So you're seeing someone then? Who's the lucky girl?”

“I... well I mean...” Peter stutters, taken off guard.

“Or lucky boy? Person? C'mon darling, you don't think I of all people would be a homophobe do you?”

“It's not that I just... we aren't exactly dating,” he says reluctantly. “Besides I saw that girl you dated after me. I _know_ you aren’t a homophobe Fel. She was uh… almost as well-endowed as you.”

She throws her head back in laughter, real laughter this time and it’s somehow more beautiful than the act she likes to put on. It’s nice to see Felicia act like a real person again. But still, he can’t help but think of Sam laughing, his face pressed against Peter’s chest, or the way he sometimes snorts when he laughs too hard at some stupid thing Peter has said. It’s only been a little while but Peter already misses that laugh more than he’d like to admit.

“Hmm,” Felicia says, jolting him out of his reverie. “You’re really far gone on whoever this is aren’t you?”

“I’m just,” he considers denying it, but he’s learned long ago that the women in his life always know better than him. He sighs loudly, deflating a little. “So far gone I need a map to get back,” he admits.

Felicia giggles. “You always did fall hard didn’t you? So do I get to meet whoever this secret not-partner is? This doesn’t have to mean I don’t get that drink from you. You could introduce me, I could play the flirty ex-lover, maybe move things along?”

“Pfft yeah, like that would go well,” Peter says, imagining what kind of fight Felicia and Sam would get into. That or he’d end up taking her home. Though with Tony at the dance he’d almost seemed…

Either way, it’s not going to happen.

Sam has been... Peter is hesitant to say avoiding him, but that's definitely what it feels like. He hasn’t had even a text for a while now and he can’t help but feel it has more to do with what he’d said at his aunt’s house than Sam being busy with his family reunion.

She looks like she’s going to say something about that, but then blessedly his phone rings, the Star Wars theme loudly cutting her off. He checks the caller ID and frowns. He’d half been hoping… but no it’s MJ. Which is also odd. Why is she calling him in the middle of the day?

“Uh I gotta get that,” he says apologetically. She narrows her eyes at him, but she’s smiling probably both at the nerdy ringtone and the fact that she _knows_ he’s at least a little bit relieved to have an out.

“Call me. You have my number. I _am_ getting that drink out of you one way or another,” she laughs, and then turns, thankfully giving him some privacy for his phone call.

“Good to see you too Fel,” he calls after her awkwardly, before quickly pressing talk.

“Hey MJ, you'll never guess who hit on me today,” he says in greeting, knowing if something is actually wrong she’ll let him know.

MJ laughs into the phone. “And you'll never guess who I have a date with tiger. Sounds like we’ve both had a busy day.”

“You have a date?! Like with a real live every day person and not just some beautiful but dull arm candy?”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, since when have I ever gone for beautiful but dull.”

“Last year, red carpet for that one movie you did with the-”

“The point,” MJ interrupts him firmly. “Is that yes I have a date, and no she’s _not_ just a regular every day person. But I’m not telling you any more than that until we’re curled up on your couch drinking my favourite wine.”

Peter laughs, already feeling a little lighter just hearing MJ’s voice. “And let me guess, I’m providing the wine?”

“You got it Tiger,” she sings, sounding far too pleased. “I’ll tell you about my girl and you can tell me all about who hit on you and we can get royally drunk.”

“You mean _you_ can get royally drunk while I nurse a quarter of a glass all night right?” Peter snorts.

“You got it party animal. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over.”

“Talk to you later MJ,” he replies, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Mwah,” she replies, sending her customary goodbye cheek kiss down the phone before hanging up.

Peter grins flipping his phone shut. At least he'll have something to occupy his mind since Sam seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Peter gets that he's busy with his family reunion and all... but given how much Sam has been avoiding him for the past week or so it still makes his heart sink that his phone hasn't gone off once. Not even to reply to the casual “how's the party going?” he'd sent.

With a put-upon sigh he shoves his phone in his jacket pocket and heads towards the liquor store, thankful that he just got paid. MJ has expensive taste.

……….

It takes half the bottle of wine and the entire Felicia story told twice before Mary Jane decides she's willing to let him in on her secret paramour. And even then, Peter really has to work for it.

“Well she's blonde,” MJ starts, her eyes sparkling. “And very pretty.”

“You've just described half the population of New York, c'mon MJ I need a better clue than that,” he laughs, willing to play along even as he began mentally running through a list of every pretty blonde he's ever met.

MJ wiggles delightedly beside him, taking a slow sip of her wine. “Well I suppose I could give you just a _bit_ more to go on...”

Peter sighs. MJ sure does love her theatrics. Which, come to think of it is probably why she became an actress.

“Okay, so it starts with a G, and ends in a Wen,” MJ practically sings after a beat to build the tension.

“Gwen?! Gwen Stacy?! As in... my ex Gwen Stacy?”

MJ nods, a proud pink smirk on her lips.

“Oh my _god_!” he says, his mouth falling open in shock. “Oh. My. God.”

MJ is practically cackling at the look on his face, kicking her feet out in delight.

“I know right? I couldn't believe it when I saw her walking through Central Park of all places, who knew she was even in town!? And then she asked me out for coffee and now we have a dinner planned, at a very romantic restaurant. Gwendy has good taste. Better than yours ever was,” she teases, her eyes sparkling.

Peter just gapes at her.

“Aww c'mon Tiger, say something!”

Peter looks up at her with a haunted expression. “I'm- I'm like the king Midas of gay women!” he finally blurts out, looking down at his hands with wide eyes. “Everything I touch turns to gay!”

“Excuse you, I think you mean bisexual,” MJ corrects, smacking his arm, though she's smiling widely.

Peter huffs. “I can't believe you're dating my ex-girlfriend. Et tu other ex-girlfriend?”

“You're happy for us you big goober. I know because you're smiling like a dork,” she says, snuggling up against his arm.

He really is smiling. He's always loved MJ and Gwen, either romantically and as friends depending on the time in their lives, and it just somehow seems right for them to be together now. Two of the best and most deserving people Peter knows getting together? Of course he's smiling.

“I really am happy for you MJ. You and Gwen are going to be good together.”

MJ squeezes his arm affectionately. “Thanks Pete. You'll have to come out with us sometime. Maybe bring Sam?” she says, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

He chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “Yeah I uh... I don't know if that's going to happen.”

“Uh oh... that sounds bad. C'mon Pete, let's talk it out,” she says, curling her legs up under herself and hooking her arm through his.

Peter sighs, his eyes tracing the familiar scenery of the room. MJ's apartment always makes him feel like he's at a sleepover in her old room, just them and Harry sharing secrets they swore they'd never tell anyone else. Something about it is comforting enough that he doesn't even feel the impulse to deny that he has something he needs to talk about. “I just... we've been having a good time lately. Like really good. We hang out all the time and he makes me food, and I buy him dinner and I told you about the gala,” he pauses, looking over at MJ for confirmation that she's listening.

“Tiger...” she interrupts, her voice soft. “You're in love with him.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah I really am.”

Instead of sympathy Peter gets a smack to the arm that makes him jolt. “Ow! Hey!”

“You dumbass! Go _tell_ him you love him!” MJ berates him, shaking her head.

Peter pouts, rubbing his arm. “I can't. He uh... he won't answer my texts. And he's in Arizona so it's not like I can just go _make_ him talk to me.”

MJ tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “Oh Peter... what did you do?”

Peter buries his face in his hands, glad that MJ's arm is still hooked through his as he tells her the whole story of what happened at his aunt's house. By the end he's managed to work up the courage to look her in the eyes, and he's not sure how to feel about the way she's smiling despite looking grim.

“You really did it again didn't you Pete. You've _got_ to learn how to shut up every once in a while,” she says affectionately.

“Wow thanks MJ, that's exactly what I needed. Not you know, sympathy or advice. That'd just be crazy when my love life is falling apart,” he grouches, sinking down into the cushions and hunching his shoulders up defensively.

Mary Jane presses her head against his shoulder, snuggling him close to her side. “Peter honey, I don't have any new advice for you. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”

“But what if he doesn't want to be with me?”

“Then at least you'll know,” MJ says gently. “It's better for it to end than for you to keep torturing yourself like this. But trust me, I don't think that's going to happen.”

Peter bites his lip. That doesn't sound better. Honestly he'd rather drag it out. He'd rather break his own heart every day just to get a little bit more time with Sam than break it off permanently and have Sam hate him.

“What if you're wrong?”

“Hah funny. When have I ever been wrong?” MJ snorts. “Peter sweetheart I'm pretty sure Sam has been mad for you since we were in high school. I thought so back then, and from what I'm hearing for some strange reason he's still not over you.” MJ presses a kiss to his hair. “Not that I blame him. You're a catch Peter Parker, now go out there and get your man.”

Peter hums, resting his head on hers. “I'll go get my man later. Tonight we talk about you and Gwen,” he says, grinning evilly.

MJ laughs at him but there's a hint of red in her cheeks.

Oh this promises to be fun.

“Okay okay. But before you grill me on my love life can you promise me something?”

“That depends,” Peter says warily. “What is it?”

MJ looks him in the eyes, her expression serious. “Promise me you'll stop holding back with Sam. I mean, I _know_ you so I know you've probably done a million strictly non-friends with benefits gestures by now, but I _also_ know that under all that snark you're sappier than a tree and you've been holding back haven't you?” She doesn't wait for him to reply, grabbing his hand in her own. “So next time Sam shows even the slightest sign of affection _stop holding back._ Show him what a loving, caring, huge loser you are okay Pete? After what you said at May's he deserves at least that.”

Peter blinks, trying to keep the emotion from showing on his face. “For a pep talk that sure had a lot of insults,” he says instead of something sweet about how she's his best friend in the world and he adores her.

“You bet your ass it did. Now, enough about you, let's talk about me,” she croons, pouring herself another glass of wine.

Peter laughs and settles in for a long night of embarrassing her. Privately though, he considers her words. Maybe she's right, not that he should tell her that. Maybe he has nothing to lose and everything to gain from telling Sam how he feels. After all, Sam can be sort of reasonable. Sometimes. Peter's sure that even if he doesn't return his feelings they can at least try to remain friends.

Silently he agrees to the promise Mary Jane never actually made him make out loud. The next time he has an impulse he won't hold back. Now it's all or nothing, and Peter refuses to go down without a fight.


	15. Not So Carefree in Carefree Arizona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some thinking, some napping, and an awakening.

Sam has been in Carefree Arizona for two days now, but he's feeling anything but carefree.

You'd think that visiting a bunch of family he hasn’t seen in years an having them cooing over him would be enough to take his mind off of a certain monogamy fearing asshole, yet Peter is on his mind and he can't shake it.

Today he'd been banished from the house for girl talk or something like that, which was so totally unfair because Sam did the _best_ girl talk, but whatever. The problem with being kicked out for the day is that he has nowhere to go. Carefree is so boring that he figures he's probably better off just chasing the shade around the sides of the house and chilling on his lawn all day than even trying to go somewhere where he might run into people like his old bully Moffat. Although to be fair Moffat still lives in this shithole, while Sam is a rising star in the New York restaurant scene. Heh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad running into him after all.

But that'd take effort and Sam isn't feeling like exerting that much of it right now. So he flops on the ground and settles in for a really  _really_ long afternoon.

It had only taken one mind melting hours of staring at his own shoes in the summer heat to make him break down and text Peter out of sheer boredom and desperation.

Texting Peter had been... well confusing is the word that first comes to mind.

Usually talking to Pete just felt weirdly right. Even when they're fighting, which is pretty much all they do, it still feels good, like they somehow balance each other out or something. And yeah... it still kinda felt like that texting him this time, only this time it also felt... tense. Like he was waiting for Pete to call him out or tell him to screw off or something.

He'd probably deserve it too. Because Sam has 100% been avoiding him. It's easier to deal with the swirling emotions in his chest that way. It's easier to decide that he can't keep doing this with Pete when he doesn't have to see his stupid face or hear his stupid voice. And he really really can't keep doing this. It's too hard to lay next to Peter and pretend all he feels for him is just like... lust. And if that's all that Peter wants...

But Peter had been his normal self, almost overeager to talk to him, and that had just made Sam feel like a jerk. Right up until a few hours ago when the replies just stopped coming.

He glares down at his cellphone for the millionth time, and for a second considers chucking it across the lawn and into a clump of cacti. Why the fuck does Peter have to be so... so... _Peter_ all the time?! Why couldn't he have gotten ugly or mean, or have been single and _interested._ Hell Sam would have taken him having a partner over this. And why wasn't he _texting him back_?”

The only thing that stops him from throwing his cell the way it deserves to be thrown is the memory of the last time he'd had to fish his phone out of that particular clump, and had ended up with a prick bigger than Peter stuck in his hand. Seriously though, it's been over two and a half hours since his last text to Peter. It's not like it was too sappy or something right? Friends text friends stuff like “I kinda wish you were here” all the time.

The little jolt in his chest tells him he might have fucked up, but he resolutely ignores that, squinting up at the too bright sky as he watches a hawk circle overhead. If only he could fly like that. Then he wouldn't be stuck in this backwards little town with nothing to think about besides his recent shitty life choices.

Sam shrugs, sticking his phone back in his pocket for the fifth and hopefully final time and kicking idly at the dirt. Pete had probably just picked up on how miserable he was and wasn't in the mood to deal.

It's not that he doesn't like seeing his family. He really does! Even though his parents and Kae live in New York he doesn't see them nearly enough between his job and his socializing. And his aunts and uncles are all pretty cool too. He hasn't seen them in forever.

It's just that being back in Carefree sucks. It's too hot and being here reminds him of all those boring days as a kid mindlessly skating around town and wishing for any kind of adventure to break the tedium. He remembers how excited he'd been to move to New York, and that longing for _something_ to happen is lodged firmly back in his chest now, stealing his breath more than even the dry desert air.

He lets his heavy eyes drift shut, thankful for the slight shade he'd found at the side of the house. At the very least a nap will take up a bit of his time.

And maybe if he's lucky when he wakes up there'll be dinner.

**Thunk.**

Sam makes a displeased noise at the sound when it wakes him up what seems like only minutes later.

**Thunk. Thunk.**

Squinting his eyes open he realizes he must have been asleep for at least a while. The sun is hanging a little lower in the sky and there are dark clouds gathering where before there was only blue.

**Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.**

“What the hell is that?” he grumbles, sitting up and dragging a hand over his eyes. It sounds like a particularly dumb bird throwing itself repeatedly against a window at the front of the house. He grunts, closing his stinging eyes again. If he waits it out maybe his first guess will turn out to be right and it'll fly away and let him sleep.

**Thunk.**

With a sigh he drags himself to his feet, dusting the back of his pants off as he stumbles his way towards the front to see what the hell is going on.

Seriously, it had better be something  _good._ He'd been having a nice dream. A dream full of wide blue eyes and messy brown hair and two hands slipping together, two pairs of lips pressing warm and soft.

He runs his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to tame it back into somewhat presentable shape as he rounds the corner, not sure what he's about to see.

He stops, stuck still as he stares incredulously at the sight that greets him.

Whatever it was he expected to see, it _definitely_ wasn't Peter Parker on his front yard with a Tupperware container in his hand, throwing rocks at his house like he's a kid from down the street trying to get Sam to come out and play. 

How is he-?  _Why_ is he-? 

What. The. Fuck.


	16. Romcom Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the raaaaain fall down, and wake my dreams, let it wash away my sanity, 'cause I wanna feel the thunder I wanna scream, let the raaaain fall down I'm coming clean. I'm coming clean. 
> 
> Thank you Hilary Duff for providing such a succinct summary. We are nearing the end my friends. Welcome to the confession!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I know this is late. Been really busy and had a family emergency, but I'm back! The final chap might take a little while to get out, but enjoy!

“Pete?” Sam says, his eyes going wide and heart beating a mile a minute just at the sight of him. He really has to get a handle on his emotions if just seeing Peter makes his knees feel weak. “What are you doing here?! Why the fuck are you throwing things?”

 

Peter turns to him, looking a little bit shocked but mostly like a kid whose mom just found him with his hand in a cookie jar. His cheeks and even the tips of his ears are going completely red. It’s… god it’s absolutely precious. “Oh uh. Hey Sam. I was um... throwing rocks? At your bedroom. Which you obviously aren't in.”

 

Sam blinks at him.

 

“It um... well it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 

“That's not even my room,” he says, trying his hardest not to laugh. “That's where aunt Sofia sleeps.”

 

Peter blinks as Sam bursts into laughter. He’s feeling a little bit light headed, a little bit like nothing about this is real. It’s hard to believe Peter is actually here. That somehow this stupid beautiful nerd is really standing on his lawn channeling every cheesy 90’s movie and chucking rocks at his aunt’s window.   


“Well I’m sure she’s a lovely lady, but maaaaaybe don’t tell her about this?” Peter says, sounding rueful.

 

“No?” Sam laughs. “Why not? I mean you went to all this trouble…”

 

“For you,” Peter protests, suddenly sincere.

 

Sam blinks, frowning at him and waiting for an explanation.

 

“I um… don’t know if you noticed but I’m here. In Arizona. Harry let me hitch a ride on one of his fancy jets,” Peter says, sounding embarrassed. “I’m pretty sure that was the fastest a plane has ever gone but… you said you were having shitty food and you were missing Aunt May’s lasagna and I um… I just figured I should bring you some.”

 

“You figured you’d bring me some,” Sam repeats in disbelief. “You figured you would bring me some all the way from New York to Arizona?!”

 

“Yeah well… you wanted it. And I was kinda trying to make a big gesture. Which you totally deserve, for more reasons than one,” Peter says, looking down at his feet. “Listen, Sam. I know I said some pretty awful things at May's house but... God that was so so stupid. Sam I really didn't mean it, I honestly meant the opposite but... well you know I'm an idiot and I don't think before I speak. And I thought you'd be upset if I- I mean I thought you didn't-”

 

“Seriously?! What you thought I'd throw a knife at you in front of your aunt if you said you liked me? You really are an idiot." Sam huffs. Completely unbelievable.

 

Leave it to Parker to think offending the dude you're sleeping with is a better plan than just admitting you... wait.

 

If real life had a soundtrack this would be a record scratching moment for sure.

 

Was Peter Parker really standing in Arizona, on the front lawn of Sam’s childhood home saying this? Peter... wants him? As more than a friend... more than a fuckbuddy?

 

“But... you didn't want a relationship!" Peter interjects. "You said-”

 

“What?! No! I wanted a relationship! I've wanted one since the first time I saw your stupid face at the bar and all the dumb feelings I had in high school came crashing back in! You're the one who said you wanted to just fuck!” Sam feels like he's in a dream, not even bothering to lower his voice despite the fact that his old house is currently filled with a bunch of ladies who would kill for this kind of thing to gossip about.

 

“I never- okay yeah I said I wanted to... you know... but I only said that because you got all weird when I asked you out!”

 

“I was surprised! I-” Sam bites back his words as Peter leans over, almost as if he's going to be sick, the Tupperware in his hands tumbling to the ground. Sam's not sure if he should rush forward or take a few cautionary steps back, but then Peter's shoulders start shaking, and suddenly he's laughing so hard Sam starts to really fear that his family might hear it and come out to investigate.

 

“What the fuck is so- so funny,” Sam asks, his voice cracking with laughter. “It's not f-fun- it's not-,” he tries once more to struggle through the giggles building in his chest, and then he's bending over as well, laughing just as hard as Peter is. He laughs so hard that it feels like his ribs might crack from it, shaking on his front lawn until tears are streaming down his face and he's somehow stumbled forward into an equally amused Peter's arms.

 

“Hi,” Peter says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady as his mouth curls up into a smile that looks like it might explode back into laughter at any moment.

 

“Hey,” Sam replies, just as breathless and giggly.

 

Peter's arms squeeze him tighter, his hands making little circles where they rest on his back. “We are really really stupid,” he says, looking over Sam's face like he can't quite grasp the fact that he is real and standing there in front of him. It's a look full of wonder, a look of downright awe, and it makes Sam feel just as weightless and full of light as it makes him uncomfortable.

 

“Yeah. Well mostly you, but yeah,” Sam says, breathless for a whole different reason now.

 

“Shut up,” Peter breathes, and then they're kissing and it feels like the whole world is spinning, spiraling as the world falls out from under his feet. The only real thing in his world is Peter's lips, his arms, his chest pressed against Sam's own. The beat of his heart, fast and dizzying. The way his hands cling tight, like Peter doesn't ever want to let him go.

 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, his lips still brushing Peter's. “Shutting up sounds good.”

 

It feels like their next kiss might never end, and Sam wonders how long it would have gone on if the sudden crack of thunder hadn't jolted them apart.

 

“Shit,” Peter laughs quietly, looking up at the sky as the rain starts pouring down on them, soaking them to the bone.

 

Sam feels like he's about to burst again as laughter builds in his chest, his hands buried in Peter's wet hair. “Is this the part where we kiss in the rain? Since our lives are a fucking rom com,” he asks, unable to stop smiling.

 

Peter tugs him back into his arms, and kisses him again, rainwater dripping from them both, running down their faces like tears as their smiling lips meet over and over. Peter tastes like rain and feels like home, and Sam doesn't understand how they didn't see this before when it's so obvious. They really are fucking dumbasses.

 

A flash of lightning rends the sky in half, illuminating the world in vivid light as they jerk their heads apart, laughing up at the sky.

 

“We should go inside before we get fried,” Sam says, tugging him towards the house. Peter tugs him back and Sam comes willingly, pressing against Peter's chest as he kisses him again while the rain drenches them both.

 

“Do you rhyme all the time?” Peter asks, nudging his nose against Sam's, still giggly with a huge goofy smile on his face. Sam wants to kiss it off, but he's already starting to shiver and besides the last thing he needs is to encourage Peter.

 

“You're an idiot. Come inside dumbass, I'm freezing,” he says, far too fondly.

 

Peter finally gives in, following his lead and jogging up to the front porch. “Wow first date and you're already inviting me over,” Peter says when they reach the relative cover of the overhang. “How scandalous.”

 

“Oh you think we're gonna have sex? No no Parker, we're in a relationship now, no more wild spontaneous sex for you. Now you get to meet my family, and then maybe next week we'll schedule some vanilla missionary position sex and get bored halfway through,” Sam corrects him. Peter grasps his chest as if in pain, but his grimace still looks more like a smile than anything.

 

“Oh god, not missionary! Not your family! I take it back! Let's go back to the old arrangement,” he faux pleads, pulling Sam in by the hips.

 

“Too late asshole,” Sam says before they both lean in for yet another kiss. “You're stuck with me now.”

 

From the soft look on Peter's face as he nudges their noses together it seems like he really really doesn't mind.

 

The sound of the door opening isn't quite enough to make them break apart, though it does startle them both enough to make them jump.

 

“Samuel Alejandro, are you going to invite your guest inside or are you planning on keeping him out in the cold all day?” his mother looks stern, but he can tell from the curl of her lips that she's happy to see him. He can also see the rest of the ladies of his family peeking around the corner, confirming his suspicions that they'd been watching at least for a while.

 

“Yeah yeah mom, we were just-” Sam gets cut off as Eva's eyes move to take in Peter's dripping wet form, and her face lights up like a star.

 

“Peter!! Dios mio, it's so good to see you! Look at how much you've grown!” she cries out, tugging him into the house.

 

“Hello Mrs. Alexander. Mrs. Alexander’s family members,” he acknowledges, making most of the cousin’s giggle and duck back into the other room. A few of the older and braver ones remain, looking Peter over and waving at him.

 

Sam trudges in after Peter, embarrassed in a way he hasn't been since he was a teenager. Part of him wants to whine “Mooooom” but thankfully he resists the urge. He's pretty sure Peter would never let him live that down.

 

Eva gives him the 'introductions _now_ Sam' look, so he rolls his eyes, and threads his fingers through Peter's.

 

“Peter this is my aunt Sofia, my aunt Alma, my aunt Sara and my Abuela. Everyone, this is my boyfriend Peter.” The word boyfriend gets him a squeeze to his hand, and makes his chest feel like the fourth of July.

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Peter says, oblivious to the look Eva is casting between them. She's beaming, and Sam has no doubt that as soon as Peter is out of earshot she's going to tell him all about how she always knew they'd get together someday.

 

“Sam, when did this happen?” she asks, he smile dimming into an annoyed glare. “You didn't think to tell your mom about your best friend becoming your boyfriend?”

 

Peter grins at him. “Best friend huh? You never told me that. I would have made us friendship bracelets.”

 

This is exactly the reason he'd never said anything.

 

“I think I probably said something like _worst_ friend and she misheard,” he mumbles. “Because you’re the worst.”

 

“Sam be nice to your guest,” Eva admonishes, though she can’t keep the smile off of her face at the sight of them still standing so close together, their hands linked. She turns, shooing the rest of the women back into the living room, speaking quickly and enthusiastically in hushed Spanish.

 

“Sam nice to me? That’ll be the day,” Peter says, though the words are too quiet for Eva to hear. He stands there, just looking into Sam’s eyes with a smile so wide and pleased that Sam has to work twice as hard as normal to restrain himself from kissing it off.

 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, not taking his eyes off of Peter for a moment, his own smile starting to ache on his face in the best of ways. “That’ll be the day.”


	17. End Things With A Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always end things with a bang!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow we climbed this whole mountain! Sorry for the delay, again things have been busy and crazy and I wanted to make this chap a lil more porny than it was before. So here ya'll go! Enjoy!

Peter is clingy.

 

This is just one of the many things Sam had forgotten about Peter Parker since their high school days. But since they’ve gotten together, he’s had a lot of time to learn.

 

Peter’s naked body is pressed tight against Sam’s, like a tall though admittedly scrawny space heater made just for him. Seriously, Peter is always so stupidly warm, especially after what they just did.

 

Sam smirks, letting Peter wrap around him like a particularly amorous kraken. Which… Is actually kind of a disturbing image. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Peter. His weird is clearly rubbing off on him.

 

Speaking of rubbing… If he’d thought hooking up with Peter was awesome he’d had no idea how fantastic it would be to have this kind of sex with him. The kind where they didn’t have to pretend, or stomp down that aching tinge of longing. And post sex cuddling? Yeah, that is a definite bonus.

 

“So… wanna do this again sometime?” Peter asks, hand running up and down Sam’s naked back.

 

Sam groans into the pillow. “Are you seriously ready to go again already?”

 

His breath tickles his hair when he chuckles at that, but his hand doesn’t stop running up and down his spine, slow and soothing.

 

“Not right  _ now _ ,” he says fondly, his fingers sending little shivers through Sam. “I mean you wanna keep hooking up?”

 

Sam snorts, catching on by the teasing lilt to Peter’s tone. “Hmm. Like fuckbuddies?”

 

Peter presses a kiss to his head, and Sam can feel the smile on his face. “Mmm yeah, I’m not looking for a relationship, but friends with benefits sounds cool.”

 

Sam gives him a little squeeze, tangling their legs together as he hums thoughtfully. 

 

“Didn’t think you were the type Parker.” He lets his eyes trace the length of Peter’s side, the view of his own clothes mixed among Peter’s in the bedroom giving him a little rush of satisfaction. ‘Hmm… I dunno. The sex was good, but you gotta promise you aren’t going to fall for me. I don’t wanna catch you pining over me or some shit.”

 

Peter nods thoughtfully. “Agreed. I think I’ve done enough pining for a lifetime.”

 

Sam bites back a laugh at that. It still seems so fucking stupid to him that Peter had felt the same way this whole damn time. It figures though. They’ve never done anything the easy way.

 

“Oh wait shit…” he says after a moment, shifting in Peter’s arms. “Sorry dude, I just realized I can’t keep hooking up with you.”

 

“No?” Peter asks in amusement. “And why’s that?”

 

“I totally forgot, I have a boyfriend,” he says. 

 

Peter blinks, pushing him back so he can look into his eyes. He looks comically shocked, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open, hand pressed to his chest like an affronted old woman who just heard  that her granddaughter had moved in with a man before marriage.

 

“A boyfriend?! What?!”

 

“Yup. He’s a dork but you know, I think I’ll keep him around for a while.”

 

Peter schools his features into a frown, though it’s obviously a struggle to keep his face straight. “I can’t believe this. You forgot about your boyfriend? How do you just  _ forget  _ about a boyfriend? I mean, he must be a pretty unimpressive guy if you forgot he even existed.”

 

Sam smirks against Peter’s shoulder, nuzzling him and generally being a nuisance until Peter has to put his hand on his head to keep his hair out of his face with a laugh. The hand lingers, petting at the mess of hair. “You have no idea,” he says, closing his eyes at the feeling.

 

Peter slaps his ass with his free hand at that, giving him an offended look. “Rude! That’s how you talk about your boyfriend?” Sam nods, smirking up at him. “Whatever… I heard he’s the best,” Peter huffs.

 

“Mmm, best might be a strong word. I’d say he’s more like… he’s alright,” Sam shrugs.

 

“I’ll show you alright,” Peter laughs, rolling them over so that he’s hovering over him. He presses kisses all over Sam’s face and chest between giggles, until Sam has to swat him away laughing just as hard.

 

“Okay okay, fine! He’s the best! Stop! That tickles!”

 

Peter grins, letting Sam catch his breath for a moment, just watching his face.

 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Sam says when he starts to feel weird, but Peter just quirks a smile and keeps right on looking.

 

“Don’t tempt me. I could get my camera you know.”

 

Sam snorts. “Which one. You have like a thousand.” Peter leans down and kisses him soundly, and Sam lets his thoughts drift away, lost to the way Peter’s lips shift and press, the way his tongue runs across the seam of his lips.

 

“Mmm you sure you don’t wanna keep hooking up?” Peter asks, a few breathless minutes later. “Cause that was really  _ really  _ nice.”

 

Sam grins, smug despite the fact that Peter has left him equally dazed. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

 

“Boyfriend remember?” He takes a breath, keeping his eyes on Peter’s face and smiling, a real and soft smile. “I’m in love with him so…”

 

“Oh yeah?” Peter says slyly. “Hmm I have a feeling he thinks you’re pretty alright too.”

 

Sam smacks him lightly, grumbling about how much of an asshole Peter is while Pete presses smiling kisses down the line of his neck. Sam tilts his head back to give him room even as he pouts.

 

“I love you too,” Peter whispers like a confession. Sam already knows, but the words still make his chest light up.

 

Sam rolls them over, straddling Peter as he leans down to kiss him in earnest, his hands starting to wander in a decidedly downward direction.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to hook up,” Peter laughs between kisses, his back arching up off of the bed as Sam’s fingers draw circles around his hip bones.

 

“Maybe just one more time,” Sam says, biting his neck just so. Peter groans, his cock already taking interest in the proceedings.

 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he sighs, unable to sound anything other than blissfully pleased about it.

 

“Oh yeah?” Sam asks, his hand now doing something  _ very _ interesting as it closes around Peter's rapidly growing erection.

 

“Yeah,” he pants, his head tilted back in pleasure. Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Peter in pleasure if you paid him. “Mmm but God, at least I can die happy.”

 

Sam laughs and kisses his absolutely ridiculous boyfriend soundly, feeling for all the world like this is the beginning of something great.

 

Peter lips are warm and wet, and when he sucks on Sam’s tongue it makes him shiver right down to his core.

 

“Well if I’m gonna be a murderer, might as well go all out,” Sam said slyly, straddling Peter and sliding down onto his still slick cock.

 

“Oh! Oh oh, oh my  _ god _ ,” Peter groaned, his hands settling on Sam’s hips.

 

He probably should have grabbed more lube, but Sam doesn’t mind. Peter always over prepares him, and today had been no exception. He’d fingered him open slow and sensual, kissing him the entire time. He’d been up to four fingers by the time he’d finally given in to Sam’s pleading and fucked him into the mattress. And even  _ that  _ had lasted a while.

 

Sam rides him slow, teasing and testing, making sure it doesn’t hurt. Not that he should have worried with Peter. The next thing he knows, Peter’s slick finger is lined up against the base of his cock, sliding up against Sam’s hole.

 

“Mmm thanks,” he says, gasping as Peter presses inside. “Oh fuck, yeah yeah Peter.”

 

“Sam,” Peter answers, saying his name like a prayer. Like he’s something to be worshiped. “Sam. You’re so gorgeous. So perfect and gorgeous.”

 

Sam grinned, fucking himself on Peter’s cock, on his finger. “Yeah, I know. Feel free to keep going though.”

 

“Mmmm. Yeah? I can?” Peter said rolling his eyes. “Wow. You’re so generous.”

 

Sam circled his hips, grinding down hard and making Peter unravel into a weak moan.

“I know right?”

 

Peter glared. “Ah Sam. You’re so…so so smug. Such an asshole.”

 

Sam laughs, leaning down to kiss Peter, soft and slow. His hips are still working, but there was no rush. They both had the day off. They could do this all day if they wanted.

 

And with the way Peter is kissing him and fucking him and touching him Sam kinda does want to spend the whole day in bed with him.

 

“I love you,” Peter tells him between kisses, breathless and rumbly. “You’re amazing and I love you.”

Sam kissed him, stealing the words from his mouth. Stealing his breath and making him moan.

 

“I love you too nerd. Now shut up and kiss me.”

 

Yeah, he thinks as Peter surges up and kisses him senseless, all in all Sam has to say that this is definitely the best hookup of his life.

 


End file.
